White Noise
by TheMinttu
Summary: Burdened by too many glitches to be normal, the Animus overheats... with Desmond still inside. Now he's trapped in a different time, inside the memories of his own ancestor. AC1
1. Synchronization lost

_A/N: Written in a spur of a moment because I'd been playing too much AC and had too much spare time. I don't know yet if I'll continue it – I have an idea, but I don't know._

_

* * *

  
_

**Chapter 1**

**Synchronization lost**

"A penny for your thoughts", I said conversationally, my voice slightly echoing in the sterile white chamber, breaking the constant tapping sound of her keyboard.

Appearing visibly surprised the young blonde woman blinked and looked up from her work. "Excuse me?" she asked. Her long-nailed fingers still hovered above the keys.

Trying to appear casual I leaned against the even whiter and more sterile Hell's Machine, as I called it. Doc referred to it as the Animus, but then again, he wasn't the one who had to sit down on it every single day for hours on end. I crossed my arms. "Come one, Lucy", I said with a tone I intended to be nice. "You know I hate it when you don't tell me anything. I'm starting to think something's wrong when you go all quiet."

However inappropriate my sudden question might have been, by the ghost of a smile that grazed the corner of her mouth I could tell she wasn't angered by it. "I'm sorry, Desmond, if I seem distant. I'm just trying to figure this out." She raised a hand to rub her eyes tiredly. "The glitches were too numerous during your last session. If it was up to me, I wouldn't let you into the Animus again just yet."

"But it isn't up to you."

Lucy sighed. When she looked up at me again I noticed the bags under her slightly bloodshot eyes. She looked like she hadn't had a minute of sleep the whole night. "Desmond, you do realize that we're very close now, right?" she asked seriously, lowering her voice and shooting a glance at the little blinking red light that gave away a security camera's position just above the chamber's door.

Now I was frowning in confusion, but nodded anyway, acknowledging that I knew what she meant. "I'll be alright, I guess", I said almost automatically. It wasn't like Lucy to be like this. Hell, she was the closest thing to a friend I had in this prison, and I wanted to keep her that way.

Had she been fighting with Doc again?

My eyes as well wandered to the red light. It blinked every time either of us moved. Almost as if taunting me. _You're never going to get out of here._

"Where is he?" I asked Lucy, wanting to keep her talking for the sake of talking. I didn't have many chances to do that these days. Some days I was so tired that afterwards I couldn't recall where and when reality had begun and my murderous ancestor's memories had ended. Time was different inside the Animus. Maybe time didn't even exist there, I couldn't tell.

Even one friendly voice would help me to stay sane.

"Where's who?" Lucy asked, sounding absent. She'd gone back to programming the Animus again, her fingers dancing expertly on the keys.

"Doctor Vidic."

For a while the woman remained silent. Then, without raising her eyes from her monitor, she said: "He wants to lengthen your sessions in the Animus."

_Longer sessions_. I immediately felt exhausted just thinking about it. I drew a deep breath through my nose and stared at my sneaker-clad toes.

"But I don't agree with him", Lucy hurried to continue. "It won't happen. I don't want you to worry about it, Desmond. It'll all be over soon if everything goes as planned, and yesterday went very well. What was the name if your – _his_ – latest..."

"William de Montferrat. Fifth on the list", I replied blankly, predicting her question and not bothering to wait for her to finish the sentence. The memory was still crystal clear in my mind, as if it really had happened yesterday and not almost one thousand years ago. I still couldn't quite grasp the knowledge that everything I saw inside the Animus belonged to someone else. This... _Altaïr_ did not exist anymore. The world had changed, what had happened couldn't be undone and all that. Those were the thoughts that I used to console myself after each session, after each murder that I was forced to experience.

While logic was on my side, it didn't do much to suppress the nausea that washed over me every time I came to after another act of homicide had played inside my brain. I could _feel_ every murder, every life _he_ took. It only became worse the longer the sessions grew. At times I wondered if Doctor Vidic knew.

If he even _cared_.

"Desmond?"

Lucy had said something that I'd completely missed. I looked up and shook my head to dismiss her expression colored with worry. "Sorry, Lucy", I apologized. "I spaced out. I was just thinking about... you know." I shrugged, wanting to give a nonchalant impression. To clear the air of the lingering tension I even flashed her a small lopsided smile. "So, isn't Doc going to join the party today?"

Lucy looked like she was going to answer, but never got the chance. Her eyes turned to look behind my back at the same time as I heard the familiar beep and hiss of the chamber door opening. "Glad to see you're already up, Mr. Miles. And judging by your humor, well rested as well."

I didn't know if Lucy saw me rolling my eyes as I hoisted myself up to sit on the metal slab that was the Animus and called over my shoulder: "Good morning to you too, Doc." I didn't bother to disguise the sarcasm in my voice.

"Let's not waste any more time. We're already behind on our schedule." I only managed to catch a glimpse of the hem of his white lab coat as Doctor Vidic circled around the machine and went for his desk near the large windows. I let my feet dangle over the edge of the table, my eyes following as he set his morning coffee down on his desk.

I stole a glance at Lucy. She had her head bowed towards her computer and her back turned to Doctor Vidic. She appeared to pay no attention to me at all.

"Well, Mr. Miles, you know what to do."

Doc was now looking at me expectantly. I responded by attempting a sarcastic grin, but which turned out a grimace. "Gee, I wonder who I get to kill _today_", I muttered, not particularly caring if he heard it or not. Still, obediently I swung my legs up and lowered myself into a lying position onto the cool metal surface.

The translucent HUD slid over my eyes, flashing various bits of information of my vitals and asking for confirmation to continue the session from where we last left it. "It'll be okay", I heard Lucy's quiet voice as the Animus released s small, almost unnoticeable electric current into my spinal cord, causing my peripheral vision to blur. The lights on the screen became brighter and gray mist surrounded everything.

At that moment I really wanted to believe her.

* * *

_The midday sun in Jerusalem was hot._

_Of course I couldn't actually feel it – I only knew it. I knew the sun was beating mercilessly down on everyone I saw in the courtyard beneath me – _him_. I knew of the beads of sweat that had appeared on my – _his_ – tanned forehead beneath the hood _he_ constantly wore. I knew of his steady heartbeat as he prowled his prey below._

_I felt, or knew of the weight of a short sword strapped onto his back as he remained completely motionless, crouching on the roof of a building, his (or my) eyes trained on the figure that boastfully stalked on a platform raised above everyone else._

_Any time now._

_

* * *

  
_

"Not yet."

"But he's been there for hours. It won't do any harm if we let him rest now and continue tomorrow." Lucy's tone was persuasive.

"Not yet", Doctor Vidic repeated. He was sitting on his chair, twirling his brand new access pen between his fingers and staring at the computer screen that at the moment showed exactly what Desmond Miles saw in the Animus. The assassinations weren't the thing that interested him, although they were impressively executed and highly entertaining to observe.

He sat up straighter and pushed away the coffee that had a long while ago cooled down. He did value Lucy Stillman's expertise in the work concerning the project, but at times she let her sentimentality get in the way of Abstergo's goals. Weeks of research proved that Subject Seventeen could handle long periods of time inside the Animus without other consequences than exhaustion.

"Fifteen minutes, Warren", Lucy warned.

* * *

_I wanted to close my eyes, but I understood I couldn't. In this body I was merely tagging along, and his actions weren't for me to decide._

_His muscles tensed for impact. Not once did his determination waver._

_The hidden blade that emerged from his left wrist was sharp and deadly. Soft human tissue on the man's neck did nothing to stop it. The metal disappeared from my – his – sight as it dug into flesh. I was painfully aware of the satisfaction _he_ experienced at the sickening sound of..._

_

* * *

  
_

"Warren, please", Lucy said, her voice betraying her nervousness as she observed the monitor that showed a breakdown of Desmond's vitals. "We have to abort. Any longer and getting him out will become difficult."

"He's a healthy young man. He can go on for another hour or two", came the strict reply. "We do _not_ have any more time to lose. You should know it better than anyone, Lucy."

"I'm – I'm sorry, but this time it's different. Having this many glitches during one session is not normal." With a few taps on the screen she brought up a diagram that immediately flashed an ill-boding red light. Worry creased her forehead. "The Animus is overheating", she said urgently. "We shouldn't have done this at all. I'm getting him out of there now."

* * *

_I knew he heard the cries of guards, the ringing of their swords as they were drawn and the horrified yelling of the crowd who were almost climbing over each other to get away from the scene._

_Then the world turned into a blur around him as he took off. Up the wall, across the roof. To me every roof looked the same. To him, every roof was a chance._

_The alarm bells sounded in the distance._

_

* * *

  
_

INVALID CODE. WAITING FOR INPUT.

The woman stared incredulously at the message that blinked at her coolly before disappearing and reverting back to the the Animus surveillance index as if nothing had happened. "You changed the abort code?" She turned on her high heels, panic forming an uncomfortable lump in her throat. "You changed the code! Why? I need to get Desmond out, this is not safe!"

"Lucy", Doctor Vidic said firmly, standing up and tucking his access pen into his pocket. "For the last time, Mr. Miles is perfectly fine. This is not the first time he-"

His sentence was cut off as a steady beeping sound from the Animus' computer caught their attention. A simple message had appeared on the upper left corner of the screen.

DNA SYNCHRONIZATION LOST. INITIATING A SYSTEM RESET.

* * *

_The toll of the bells started to be almost deafening._

_I knew _he_ wasn't alarmed. But _I_ was._

_Everything he felt, heard, saw or tasted were conveyed to me, but only as copies of something that had preserved in my DNA for almost a thousand years. What I experienced was a memory, and as such, no panic, pain, sound or scent could be real._

_Now I was alarmed, because the bells got louder and louder. So loud in fact that I wanted to cover my ears, if I could have._

_He was still running, as if oblivious to the horrible noise that threatened to burst my eardrums. The sunlight got brighter on each passing second, until it was bright enough to burn. The bells didn't stop, and neither did him._

_My eyes hurt. My ears hurt. I could _feel_ it._

_Then I saw only white._


	2. Malfunctions

_A/N: I'm back with the second chapter, yay? I meant to update sooner, but I went to a medieval fair further in the south, and had no access to Internet. Had loads of fun, though ;)_

_

* * *

  
_

**Chapter 2**

**Malfunctions**

I felt hot.

It was not the vague _awareness_ of the sensation that I was used to in the Animus. This warmth was the kind that crawled beneath my sweater, coated my skin with a thin film of perspiration and made my head pound painfully. In fact, my head felt like it had been run over by a dozen of frenzied elephants. Blood throbbed in my ears, filling them with a quiet buzzing sound. Suddenly I was very aware of each limb I possessed, and my senses felt _heightened_, which was probably some withdrawal effect caused by the Animus.

To my disappointment, I could still hear the bells, only more quietly. _Must've been a glitch_, I thought slightly groggily, recalling the chaos in the Animus that felt like it had happened just a minute ago. _Do I dare to open my eyes?_

Very carefully I cracked my eyelids open, and immediately regretted it as my retinas were assaulted by blinding sunlight that induced another pang of pain behind my eyes. It was like emerging from a dark room to outdoors. I raised my left hand to shield myself from the light and blinked blearily. My back protested and I let out a small groan as I rolled over to my right side and came face to face with a cat.

A cat?

Not caring the slightest of the severe creaking of my joints I was on my feet before I had the chance to regret it for the sake of my poor head. The offended cat mewed, lifted its tail and zipped out of the narrow alley where it had found me.

"Mother of God", I mumbled hoarsely as my gaze followed the cat until it disappeared into a crowd. I resisted the urge to gape like an idiot as my surroundings became very clear to me.

This was not the Animus.

Awe and curiosity taking the best of me I took a couple of wobbly steps to the mouth of the small alley. I pinched myself through the sleeve of my white Abstergo sweater. I felt it. I pinched harder. It hurt. It hurt for _real_.

This definitely was _not_ the Animus.

I took in the narrow streets, the peculariarly dressed people that time to time gave me an odd look when they passed by, the waving and yelling merchants, the buzz of voices talking over each other, the tan buildings and the heat that was radiating off each wall around me. And above everything, a clear azure sky where midday sun bore down on the bustling city.

A perfect copy of the Jerusalem I had seen just moments before my collapsing.

I lifted my left hand and placed it on the building's wall next to me, relishing the fact that now I actually could control my own movements – I no longer felt like a puppet. The texture of the wall was rough and warm to touch. It wasn't rough in the way I'd _known_ it to be so during the times I'd watched _him_ scale those very walls in the Animus. I withdrew my hand and noticed my fingertips were covered in dust. I brought my hand under my nose. It smelled like dust, too.

Everything was all too real to be a glitch.

Then what was it?

The alternative was a theory that was strangely exhilarating, but also so utterly preposterous that I couldn't quite accept it myself. My mind racing I looked down at my hands, turning my palms upwards. They were the same familiar hands I recognized as mine, only smeared with sand-colored dust from lying on the ground.

_This is really happening_.

I let my hands drop and absently brushed them against my dark gray jeans, allowing myself a good look around the packed street. I almost jumped at the realization that a few men and women were watching me from the shade of a merchant's stand with their brows furrowed, obviously suspecting that I was a complete lunatic.

Flashing them a little smile I forced myself to step out into the flow of people, at the same time tugging my hood up. Maybe for now if was for the best that no one saw my face. By loitering around alleys and looking like I just escaped from an insane asylum I was sure to drag attention to myself.

The spectrum of scents and colors of everything was dizzying. It was clear I had ended up in some kind of a market district – the street was full of merchants selling various types of cooked and uncooked food, meat and fruit. Women in long robes gathered to bargain for fabrics and cloths. Their chatter blended into the toll of the bells that no one really seemed to mind or register in any way. I constantly had to will my muscles to relax and my ears not to pay attention. Otherwise the headache would only get worse. In my mind I thanked Abstergo for granting my sweater a hood – it took the edge off of the heat and the blinding sunlight. Cold comfort, but at least it was something.

The main street went straight into one direction, and I couldn't see the other end with all the people blocking my view. After a short while of painfully slowly crawling forward with the crowd I figured I shold stop and ask some questions if I were to ever get out of this... _unique_ situation of mine.

As my target I chose a man who sat in the middle of a mountain of baskets further down the street – a basket weaver. He appeared to have no customers at all, which was probably the main reason for the blank, bored look on his face. I waded through the crowd, gently pushing the people from my way and ignoring the curious looks I received because of it.

Seeing my shadow falling over his wares he lifted his chin, a smile tugging at his mouth that was missing a few teeth. "Uh", I began, suddenly at loss of words. I cleared my throat and leaned closer to him. "Excuse me, but could you tell me what city this is?"

Once I got the words out of my mouth, I realized that the man might actually not understand English. At least judging by the frown he wore on his bronze colored face he was perplexed by my question. "You're in Jerusalem", he then said, and I found his words completely comprehendable, except for the slight lisp caused by his missing teeth. Had he even used English? At first I only managed to stare at the merchant in surprise. Then I understood he expected me to say something when I registered the unease in his expression.

Jerusalem. I'd been right after all. I wasn't sure just yet if that was a good thing.

Again I cleared my parched throat. "And... what year is it?"

He appeared to understand me this time as well. "1191 AD", he replied, his expression changing from confusion to irritation. "Are you going to buy something?"

My head felt empty.

The constant cacophony of the city's sounds subsided into a vague distant noise in my ears. In some level of consciousness I knew I should have been asking essential questions like "how did this happen?", "is this just another memory?" and "how am I going to get back?". Even "am I dead?". But somehow all the questions were too vast for my human brain to process.

Lucy hadn't wanted to let me into the Animus at all. It'll be okay, she'd said. _What could have gone wrong?_

It took me a moment to realize I was staring again. I bowed my head, taken aback. "No", I replied numbly after a pregnant pause. "Thank you."

The basket weaver huffed and waved his hand dismissively at me, apparently deciding I wasn't worth more of his time if I wasn't going to make him any richer. Wordlessly I turned, shrinking back into the mass of people, not particularly caring where I might end up.

Or, at least that was what I _would_ have done, if just then a white blur of something hadn't rammed into me. _Hard_.

My headache flared. The surrounding world came back to me in a flurry of colors, sounds and chaos – women screaming, wood and clay breaking, men shouting and the alarm bells tolling. Earth and sky switched places and intense pain erupted from my left arm that I unwisely chose to use to cushion my fall. I rolled onto my back, hitting my head on the paved ground and hearing something heavy fall down next to me with a quiet grunt.

An unintentional groan escaped my lips as I attempted to clamber onto my feet as quickly as possible. Everything was spinning. My hand flew to my head – my hood had fallen down in the collision. I brought my fingers down in front of my eyes, finding them covered in blood.

The white something on the edge of my swimming vision stood up, legs spread firmly and arms braced for attack, ready to sprint. So familiar...

I focused my gaze on him. Beneath the shadow of his hood I saw his stare was trained on me as well.

Two alert eyes watching me silently.

I'd never _seen_ his face. Still, the resemblance was there. And as unlikely it seemed... the white attire was unmistakeable. I opened my mouth, my tongue wrapping clumsily around the name as I uttered it aloud.

"Altaïr?"

His whole frame tensed.

"_ASSASSIN!_"

My head turned so fast that it caused another wave of dizziness wash over me. The crowd had parted, revealing six armored men in the far end of the street.

I stood rooted on the spot, unwanted flashbacks of my hours in the Animus flickering through my memory. _Guards on the left, guards on the right – blade out, stab the neck, run, run-_

Their armor or the fearsome sabres that glinted deadly cold in the sun were not the things that caused my heart to jump into my throat. It was the aura of danger around them that was only reflected on their faces that were contorted into sneers of anger and cruelty. I saw their eyes darting between me and the assassin next to me, their swords rising into ready positions.

Fear is one of the most natural of human reactions. I realized these men could kill me, and would do so gladly. That was probably the decisive fact that prompted my next action.

I turned and ran.

Angry shouts trailed me as I bolted down the street with speed I didn't think I was even capable of. The horrified citizens stayed out of my way, which was very fortunate, because I doubted I could as easily walk away from another head-on collision with someone.

Despite my debilitating fear, the adrenaline rushing in my veins and my heart threatening to hammer a hole through my ribcage kept me going even when one of the guards yelled again.

"_Assassins!_ Don't let them get away!"

_No, I'm not – no – not anymore-_

Warm air beat my burning face as I flew through the narrow sreets. I didn't dare to stop and look if anyone was following me, I just kept running. My breath came in short, laborious gasps as I sprinted, took a sharp turn to the left and then to the right. The maze of streets and alleys seemed neverending, every tan wall looked the same.

It was one thing to safely lay in the Animus and watch Altaïr do his job. Actually being in the middle of it all was another.

One more turn. I couldn't even hear the alarm anymore – only the throbbing of my own blood. I thought that if I didn't stop soon to catch my breath, my lungs would explode.

_There_.

I blindly ducked into a tiny little alley sandwiched between two tall buildings that provided not only protection from curious eyes but also soothing shade. I had no idea if anyone had seen me and if they would come looking for me here, but at the moment I was more concerned about drawing some oxygen into my lungs. My feet felt like lead and I half collapsed against the building's wall, my chest heaving and my head aching horribly from all the blows I'd received, exhaustion and dehydration.

Not long after I'd made it into the alley I heard heavy running footsteps that passed my hiding spot uncomfortably closely. Trying to control my erratic breathing, I strained my ears as the steps faltered and almost stopped.

"Keep going, find him! He can't run for long!" Then they proceeded, moving further until I could no longer hear them.

I released a relieved breath and leaned my back against the wall, finally allowing my muscles to relax. I gently touched my temple, feeling the warm and sticky blood that had seeped from the wound in my scalp. My hand suffered from serious adrenaline withdrawal as I wiped sweat off my brow.

"Jesus, Doc", I rasped to myself. "I'm not cut out for this kind of thing."

I didn't think Doctor Vidic could hear me. I didn't know if the Animus was operating at all. Something had gone terribly wrong – but me being here was proof of the fact that the Animus had something to do with what had happened. If they could fix it, they could bring me back.

I just hoped they'd manage to do it before something _else_ happened.

Almost exactly at the second I'd finished the thought, something at the edge of my vision caught my attention. A shape moving against the clear blue sky, almost right above me.

My heart skipped a beat.

_Speak of the devil_.

My eyes darted to the other end of the alley, calculating my chances. If I could make it into the open... _Don't kill me_.

As if reading my mind, before I could finish planning my glorious escape, the figure leaped.

_That's fast_, I realized dumbstruck as he landed softly and pounced forward with cat-like grace. Of course I'd known it, but seeing it this way was different. _Almost inhuman._ No wonder he had no trouble losing the guards.

I had only managed to slightly raise my hands palms upward to indicate my intentions were peaceful when I was forcefully thrown backwards into the wall. Dust rained on me. The weight of his right hand slammed down onto my left arm, pinning it to the wall as well.

_Oh yes, how silly of me. Hit first, then interrogate_. _I should've known by now_. I hissed at the stabbing pain that again went through the arm. It didn't feel like it was broken, so I must have sprained it when I fell. I was going to be bruised all over before the end of the day – _if_ I lived long enough to see it.

I'd done enough "tagging along" to expect the metallic sound of the hidden blade extending, but the feeling of the little piece of metal pressing on my bare neck still made my insides turn to ice. I knew the Creed forbade him from killing innocents, but there was no telling how "innocent" he'd eventually deem me.

"I'm a friend, Altaïr", I slipped quickly, my voice hoarse but admirably calm considering how much more pressure the assassin added on his blade when the name left my lips. "I mean you no harm." Metal poked against my Adam's apple at every word. _Don't kill me_.

His left hand that was missing the ring finger was hovering near my jaw, perfectly still. He was so close that I could hear him breathing heavily through his nose. A sweatdrop glistened on his brow, beneath which a pair of two dark brown eyes nailed me with a vigilant glare.

His mouth was a tight line under the long straight nose. It was more than just minor resemblance. _Even the scar is there_. It was almost like looking into a _mirror_.

And though shrouded in the shadow of his white hood, judging by what I saw of his expression as he scanned my features, he'd noticed the same.

_He is real_.

The jaw beneath the rough five o'clock shadow clenched.

"Explain", Altaïr said.


	3. Altaïr

_A/N: Thank you everyone for the favs, alerts and wonderful reviews! I don't know how cliché this idea already is, but I felt I had to get it out of my mind. Thank you!_

_

* * *

  
_

**Chapter 3**

**Altaïr**

_Explain_.

How do you explain for a 12th century assassin that in some undeniably remarkable way his distant descendant had made his way into the past, and didn't have a clue how or why because a cranky old guy in a lab coat refused to tell him anything? How was I supposed to come up with a satisfying explanation when said assassin was holding a blade in the immediate vicinity of my throat, very keen on sticking it through my windpipe, artery or something else that will no doubt result in severe blood loss and painful death?

Still, I think I pulled it off pretty damn well, considering the circumstances.

I knew that lying to Altaïr was nearly impossible and very likely fatal. That, and I was a _dreadful_ liar.

So, yeah. I told him the truth. Or, the abridged version of it. That should be enough for now.

The tiny sound of reason in the back of my mind piped up several times, practically loudly yelling "what are you _doing?!_" and was clearly distraught by the fact that I was actually spilling the truth to my ancestor. That sound of reason was quickly silenced. Reason was one of the less helpful things in my current situation. Besides, I was aching all over and just wanted to sit down for a moment.

After my so-called "explanation" that raised more questions than it answered, I found Altaïr's expression most difficult to read. Not even a twitch of a muscle. He just stared at me wordlessly. Was that good or bad?

"I know, science progresses in leaps in the 21st century", I said a bit breathlessly. My whole left arm was starting to go numb. _Don't kill me_. "How about letting me go now? I don't feel so good." The heat was really intense.

"Sorcery", he finally said, the fingers of his right hand digging into my shoulder. "That's what this is, sorcery."

"_No_." Frustration was creeping into my voice, and I didn't bother to disguise it. "Look, look at my clothes – look at _me_, Altaïr." Dropping the name always seemed to get his undivided attention. "I'm telling you, we're related – very distantly, but still. Just ask me anything – I know the names of your targets, I know how you killed them, I know how - how Malik lost his _arm_, for Christ's sake-"

The back of my head again made painful contact with the wall behind me as the assassin gave me a sudden shove. "How do you know about that?" he growled dangerously. His brown eyes were burning. I had hit a soft spot.

"I told you", I spat. "I've _seen_ it."

"Templar spy."

I would have laughed at the sheer irony of the claim, but I deemed it too hazardous for my pounding head. "A useless one I would be then, wouldn't I", I rasped, trying to concentrate on Altaïr's face that had started turning strangely fuzzy in my eyes.

My knees felt weak. All sounds faded into distant echos in my ears, as if someone had wrapped a pillow around my head.

"Altaïr", I mumbled, the words rolling off my swollen tongue with great difficulty as my vision started to darken, "I think I'm going to pass out now."

* * *

Apparently I had done just what I had threatened to do, because when the world around me stopped spinning and brightened, I was no longer suspended on a wall by an angry assassin.

Instead I was sitting in a slouching position against said wall, and someone was throwing water on me.

However refreshing it felt, I sputtered when the cool water hit my face. "What-" My eyes flew open and I looked up, identifying the culprit as Altaïr. He was holding a small water skin, which he tossed at me when he saw I was awake.

"Drink", he said expressionlessly. "You're dehydrated."

Without stopping to object I raised the skin to my lips and drank greedily. It was just water, but it felt like a piece of heaven to my parched throat. When the skin was finally empty, I handed it back to Altaïr, who attached it on his belt.

"Thank you", I said more out of habit than politeness. I didn't expect a reply, and I didn't get one. Judging by the shadows cast by the tall buildings the sun had changed position, but not drastically – I couldn't have been out for very long. White clouds had appeared and were sailing lazily across the blue sky.

Unable to help my curiosity, I focused my attention on Altaïr and sought out his face beneath the hood. He was watching my every move intently. I felt my frame tense under his scrutiny, but I didn't dare to look away either. Since I wasn't dead yet, he was probably more inclined to believe me – or he hadn't decided yet. The possibility still kept me on my toes around him.

The staring contest went on for several silent seconds, until he spoke. "What is your name?" he asked in that same unreadable tone. His voice sounded different than what I'd heard inside the memories.

The mundane question took me by surprise. "Desmond", I said after a short pause. _Wow. I'm actually introducing myself to my ancestor. Who would've thought._

"Des... mond", Altaïr repeated slowly. "What kind of a name is that?"

"A 21st century kind of a name", I replied more boldly than someone in my position probably should. "What kind of a name is Altaïr?"

I got another glare in response.

_Too early for wisecracks, then. Maybe humor hasn't been invented yet._ "Fine", I grumbled. Supporting myself by leaning on the wall, I got on my feet, relieved to find them strong enough to carry my weight. Altaïr made no move to stop me, which was progress. My sore arm gave me the most trouble, but I was glad that my momentary uncosciousness had left me feeling shaken but at least stable. The headache had faded into a dull throb behind my eyes. But I still didn't feel like I was up to another race through the city's streets.

The next thing that I noticed was the seemingly serene atmosphere that had fallen upon the city. It took me a second to understand what was the cause of that. "The bells have stopped", I spoke my observation aloud. I turned to look at Altaïr, whose attention was turned to the mouth of the alley, listening to the sounds of the citizens who still went about their business like nothing had happened.

"The guards will still be on the alert", he said quietly, as if predicting my next question. "We need to be cautious."

"'We'?" I echoed. "Should I understand that you believe me, then?"

He ignored me. "Can you climb?" he asked instead, suddenly turning his eyes back to me.

I blinked, once again taken aback by his question. "I guess", I eventually said, my voice not sounding very convincing even to my own ears. _He's not expecting me to_...

I couldn't fully see his eyes, but I could sense them scanning my figure from head to toe. "We'll find a ladder", he then said blankly. "Keep your head down. Don't talk to anyone. And don't try anything." A warning tone crept into his voice.

"Wouldn't dream of it", I muttered and reached over my shoulder to tug up my hood. That earned me a sideways glance from Altaïr before he placed himself right next to my right shoulder and with a small push ushered me towards the mouth of the narrow alley. I knew he intended to keep me within the range of his hidden blade, should I "try anything", as he put it.

To be honest, I had no intentions whatsoever to try to escape. That'd get me killed in less than a second, and sticking with Altaïr was my best chance to make some sense into all this. That's why I kept my head bowed low and let his hand nudge me into the right direction. From under the brim of my hood I watched the myriad of feet that filled my vision. I didn't know the city well enough navigate it on my own.

After a while I realized I hadn't asked where we were going. Before I had the chance to ask, another nudge steered me into a smaller street that seemed mostly deserted. A tall ladder was leaning against a wall, cleverly positioned in a small niche, away from prying eyes.

"The entrance is on the roof", Altaïr's low voice said, and his hand pushed at my back again. "You first."

On the roof?

_The Bureau?_

"Malik's Bureau?" I blurted.

The assassin merely nodded. "Go", he said briefly. He clearly had no qualms about bringing an outsider into one of their sanctuaries. I was not as sure about entering one.

The Bureau. My left arm started aching again just at the thought. As in, the Bureau that has no ladder or stairs? The Bureau that was only accessed through the hole in the roof?

_Perfect_.

While it'd be a welcome change and safe to get out of the streets, I couldn't help but wonder how Malik was going to react to my prescence in his Bureau. A small feeling of dread tickled in the pit of my stomach, and it got worse after each step I took on the ladder. The wood trembled under my hands, indicating that Altaïr was right behind me. I knew he wasn't exactly in good terms with Malik. Could I tell him the same I'd told Altaïr?

Suddenly the drop through the roof didn't feel that bad at all.

* * *

The Animus chamber was unusually quiet. Normally Doctor Vidic would be there supervising the sessions and watching whatever memories the subject was seeing like some twisted, perverse reality show. Occasionally he would comment on something, causing Lucy to cease her typing and reply. Her replies were always thorough and matter-of-fact, as one would expect from a scientist.

This time, however, Lucy Stillman found she had no answer for the situation at hand.

Vidic had retired for the night and the monitors were offline. The autumn sun behind the large windows had long ago started setting behind the jungle of skyscrapers and the lights inside were dimmed. The main source of light now was the Animus' HUD. The blinking white text that refused to disappear illuminated the faces of the two beings that still remained inside the chamber.

SYNCHRONIZATION LOST.

The immobile figure of Desmond Miles was on the very same place where he had laid down almost twelve hours ago. The colorless light made his skin look even paler than it already was.

Vidic had agreed with Lucy that they should not try to move Desmond until they knew exactly what had gone wrong. Breaking the electrically induced connection by force and without first recalibrating the Animus might cause permanent damage to his central nervous system.

A pile of notes, including a huge folder of the Animus' technical specs laid forgotten on a portable worktable near Desmond's feet. None of them had been able to shed any light on his condition, or answer the question why the machine would not respond. It was designed to terminate the DNA connection and reset the system when synchronization was lost. But now...

Lucy abandoned the lukewarm cup of tea she'd been attempting to force down at least for twenty minutes. Sinking lower in the chair she'd dragged next to her laptop she rubbed her eyes, trying not to smear her mascara. The sleepless nights were starting to take their toll – keeping her eyes open was getting harder after each blink.

After a while her tired eyes wandered to Desmond. Sighing and shoving a stack of papers off her lap she got on her feet, on those painful heels she'd earlier decided to wear specifically today, and moved to his side.

His breathing was slow and steady. Considering the circumstances it could have been coma. Logically, _scientifically_ it could be nothing else than coma, but when the Animus was a factor, there was no place for rushed assumptions. And while she was making just another kind of an assumption, she was convinced Desmond was not _braindead_. He looked like he was... in deep _sleep_.

_So peaceful_.

Hesitating, she raised her hand and experimentally touched the back of his left hand, which felt unusually cool. She peered at Desmond's face through the HUD.

Nothing.

Not even a flutter of an eyelid.

If it hadn't been for the barely noticeable rising and falling of his sweater-clad chest, one could have easily though him dead.

Mentally Lucy shook her head to rid herself of such thoughts. As if to ensure he was still there, and although she got no response, she gave his hand a light squeeze.

_Not dead_, she assured herself. _Just... lost_.


	4. Welcome to my Bureau

_A/N: Again, many thanks to everyone who dropped by and/or left a review. I'm stunned about the incredible comments I've been getting, even though English is not my native language. Thank you! I'll keep writing as long as my inspiration lasts. And we all know how whimsical an inspiration is._

_

* * *

  
_

**Chapter 4**

**Welcome to my Bureau**

The drop into the Bureau didn't seem that high now that I could actually see it with my own eyes. Crouching unsurely on the edge of the hole I peered down into the room below. A slight breeze grazed the green ivy leaves that climbed up the wall and across the wooden ceiling, making their shadows dance on the sunlight-blotched walls. Almost unconsciously my eyes wandered to the corner, where a pile of pillows and cushions sat innocently, basking in a spot of golden sunlight.

Despite all the mental and physical violence I'd endured at this point, over my anxiety the sight sparked a small, comforting feeling of security in the back of my mind. The place was exactly how I'd seen it. Or rather, how _he_ had seen it.

_Safe. Home_-

"Inside", Altaïr's toneless voice said from behind me, emphasizing the command with a little push at my back_. Concentrate_.

"Right", I muttered darkly, calculating the height in my mind. I remember how my father – _Dad_ – used to teach me this kind of stuff. When I still were in the place I once called home.

That was such a long time ago.

I could try climbing down by supporting myself on the uneven wall and perhaps the ivy as well, but for now I thought I should try to put as little strain on my left arm as possible. Just one short drop. I ignored the voice of Reason that saw fit to pipe up again as I swung my legs down and braced my battered muscles for the jump. Then, taking a deep breath I pushed myself over the edge with my right hand.

I'd been right – the drop was short, and my knees absorbed most of the impact when I tried to land as softly and _quietly_ as possible. Still, the pain in my sore arm flared again as I reflexively held it out in order to stay upright. Breath escaped my lungs in a small hiss when I landed inside the Bureau. More loudly than I had intended, I might say.

I clenched my teeth as I regained my balance. My hood fell off again. _Come on, you've been through worse. God, is this supposed to hurt this much?_

To get out of Altaïr's way I shrunk against the nearest wall, gently massaging the bad arm with my right hand. The shoulder beneath my palm responded to touch by aching dully. _Could be worse. Could be worse._ I sighed through my nose. My parents had always in my younger years encouraged me to use my both hands equally, so much in fact that it had almost developed into ambidexterity. _Almost_ – I admit I still untentionally favored my left hand, but despite that I was lucky to be blessed with _almost_ equal abilities in my both hands.

_At least that's something to be grateful of_. A ghost of a bitter smile tugged at my lips, but morphed into a grimace as I flexed the shoulder.

A soft _thud_ behind me indicated that the white-robed assassin had followed me down, and landed considerably more elegantly than I had. I turned my head, seeing him just standing there, his eyes trained on the doorway at the far end of the room and apparently listening intently. I thought it best to remain quiet. I watched in silence as the assassin stalked past me to the doorway. I knew where it led, and I waited for something to happen, almost holding my breath.

After standing in the doorway like a statue for a few dragging seconds, Altaïr turned to me. "Malik is not here", he said curtly. "He would have heard you already. We'll wait."

"Why?" I asked, ignoring the obvious jab at my less graceful entrance.

"I need to hear what he has to say. Get some rest."

While I didn't protest to the resting part of his comment, the first part in all its vagueness sounded like only more trouble for me. "Why do you need him?" I blurted, anxiety making me bolder. "You believe me, right?"

Altaïr leveled me with the sharpest glare I've seen, the sunlight's reflections making his eyes almost glow under the hood's brim. "I never said that, did I?" he said in that same infuriatingly expressionless voice.

The little comfort the Bureau's familiarity had brought faded at my dawning realization as I thought about what the assassin had said. He was watching me, observing my reaction. _He didn't._ _Bastard_.

"No, you didn't", I eventually forced out, my voice tense. Suddenly I felt very tired. The mountain of cushions in the corner seemed exceptionally soft and inviting. Altaïr said nothing when I resignedly walked over and heavily plopped down on one of them. Not that I would've listened if he had anything to say about it anyway.

_No, he didn't. Guess I'm not out of this just yet._

Leaning my back against the soothingly cool wall and pulling my knees up I ran a hand through my rough hair, matted by sweat and dried blood. I found myself not caring very much. "I guess it's asking a lot", I said, more to myself than the silent assassin in my company. Or was I in his company? Should I consider myself a prisoner? "I mean", I continued tiredly, scratching at a scabbing scar in my scalp, "I still can't believe I'm here – talking to _you_ – bleeding real blood, for fuck's sake..." Without looking up from my knees I gestured vaguely to his general direction. "You must think I'm crazy. A nutcase. Soft in the head." I even cracked a dry smile. "Templar spy, my ass."

I closed my eyes. I felt like I was falling. "Stubborn assassin", I mumbled blearily before I gave in to sleep that I had denied of myself for too long.

* * *

God knows how long I would've slept my exhaustion away if it hadn't been for my rude awakening after something that felt like no more than three hours. The blotches of sun on the walls had travelled upwards and I was left in a shadow right where I had fallen asleep – my back against the wall, my right shoulder leaning on the pile of pillows.

I was pretty sure that I wasn't dreaming the voice that now was calling Altaïr's name. A remotely familiar voice somewhere above me.

_Shit. Not even one moment of peace._

My eyes shot wide open and I clambered on my feet with speed I didn't think my aching body was physically cabable of in this condition. The stiff, sleep-sore joints in my neck and legs clicked back into place in a series of tiny pops.

Through the gaps of the wood of the ceiling I saw a human-shaped shadow crouching on the edge of the entrance hole. My heart slammed in my throat. I glanced feverishly around the room, finding no clue of Altaïr's presence whatsoever.

A panic-induced cold sweat broke out on the skin of the back of my neck. _Where is he?_

While I stood there, rooted on the spot in a strange half-crouching pose, my still drowzy mind attempting to decide what kind of action to take and my hyperactive imagination coming up with several worst case scenarios, the figure dropped lightly down into the Bureau, an empty left sleeve of a black overcoat flapping uselessly.

_I'm in trouble_, I realized as Malik straightened his back and saw me.

For a split second the assassin stared at me over the expanse of the room. When I saw his remaining hand already moving to his belt I understood exactly just how disadvantageous the predicament was for me. I _did_ try to sidestep when I regained control of my muscles again, but I had already wasted too much time gawking at him.

_Damn assassin reflexes_, I only managed to think sullenly before the throwing knife embedded itself in my left shoulder.

As much as I tried not to, I yelled aloud, although mostly out of surprise and shock. The burning pain came soon after, when I stumbled backwards towards the wall and my hand flew to the throbbing wound where the small hilt was grossly sticking out of a rip in my sweater. With some morbid fascination I watched as three crimson spots stained the white fabric around the blade, just below my collarbone.

_Why did it have to be the left arm, _I found myself thinking senselessly.

"What are you doing here?" the Bureau leader before me demanded in that same harsh tone I recognized from the many times when I'd heard it before. The words were emphasized by the ringing sound of metal. I looked up. A longsword had appeared in his hand, the tip pointing straight at me. His narrowed dark eyes and the long hawk-like nose effectively made his features look intimidating.

My mouth opened, but instead of words I just released a pained huff. The shocked daze caused by the wound had rendered my tongue useless. My whole left shoulder felt like it was on fire. I clutched it tightly in an attempt to keep it still, my fingers unconsciously digging into the flesh around the tiny blade. I hardly felt it over the burning.

I saw how his expression changed as he studied my face, a hint of confusion appearing into his angry frown. The tip of the sword came closer as he advanced one step. "Who are you?"

"Malik, stop."

I hadn't guessed I could ever be as relieved to hear Altaïr's voice as I was at the moment when he emerged into the doorway between me and the sword-brandishing Bureau leader. I would've liked to sigh with relief to calm my racing heartbeat, but my laborious breathing was already making my wound sting with each inhale.

A silence ensued, during which Malik's eyes darted between me and Altaïr. His hostile demeanor didn't change, but I was certain our undeniable resemblance had not gone unnoticed. _I know. Get over it. _Jesus_, this hurts. _I clenced my teeth. Malik's attention had focused on Altaïr. "What-" he began, and then apparently changed his mind. "Who is this, Altaïr?" Malik glanced quickly at me, Altaïr didn't. The sword stayed where it was.

"He's with me."

"Only the more reason, if you ask me", Malik slipped. "Congratulations, Altaïr. You have once again compromised the Creed by revealing yourself to an outsider, and in the process, betrayed us all!" His voice kept rising after each word until he was almost shouting.

"Well, no one's asking you", I groused through my teeth, releasing my fear and frustration at my own helplessness in an aggressive outburst. The heads of both assassins turned to me. "Doesn't the Creed say something about killing innocents as well, huh?"

Both regarded me in complete silence. For a second the outraged expression that passed Malik's features made me regret my words – _shouldn't be talking back with a goddamn knife in my shoulder_ – but at least the bickering had stopped.

"This is perfect, Altaïr", Malik said slowly, every word just dripping with sarcasm. "He has not only your face, but your tongue as well. And as for you..." His attention turned back to me, accompanied with a nasty glare. "As far as I'm concerned, your very presence here is alone enough to remove your status as an innocent."

"Don't give me that – _assassin talk!_" I shouted awkwardly, surprising even myself. "I've been hit, chased, and tossed around like a sack of flour and now you threw a _knife_ at me! And I don't even know _why!_" My chest was heaving, which did nothing to lessen the pain and combined with my abrupt adrenaline rush it only made me feel nauseous. I looked down at the tiny metal hilt, which suddenly seemed extremely sickening, jutting out like that. "I think I need to sit down", I breathed and stiffly backed up to my cushion in the corner, trying to keep the limply hanging limb as still as possible. No one made a move to stop me.

Just before I closed my eyes I saw Malik lowering his sword and turning to Altaïr who had been watching our dispute without a word. I was biting my tongue in order to give myself something to concentrate on instead of the burn of the wound, but the buzz of conversation that soon started stole my attention. Malik wasn't attempting to lower his voice, so I didn't need to strain my ears. He was talking like I even weren't there, probably deeming me little threat in my current condition.

"For the sake of the Brotherhood I hope you have a good explanation for this."

For a moment he got no answer. "He has information", Altaïr's voice then replied, every word carefully deliberated.

"Has our Master taught you nothing? Of course he has information! He could be a spy!"

This time I could make out a hint of annoyance in Altaïr's voice. "Don't think I haven't considered the possibility."

"If there's a possibility, that is already a risk too big to take, Altaïr." I heard rustling of clothes as Malik shifted. "I can't let you do this again."

"It is not up to you to decide." A pause. "Just one day, Malik. Two at most."

Another tension-filled silence. I kept my eyes closed when I finally heard the sound of a sword sliding back into its sheath. "Two days", Malik said, the words echoing a sense of finality. "If you're not gone by then, I'll kill him myself and make sure Al Mualim knows exactly what happened." There were footsteps advancing towards the doorway.

"Thank you."

The footsteps paused, as if hesitating. "We _will_ talk about this later. Keep an eye on him." Then they disappeared into the next room.

Apparently I had been very close to blacking out again, because when I felt a light touch on my left shoulder, I violently flinched away from the contact and inhaled sharply. My eyes flew open, and I saw Altaïr crouching close to my left side, a hand held out near my injured shoulder and a white roll of linen bandages at his feet. What surprised me more than this unexpected invasion of my personal space was the fact that he had no hood on.

_This moment will hereby mark a historical event_, I thought dryly. _Mister Altaïr without his hood_.

His coarse hair, the same as mine, was left messy and partially matted by the hot day and the hood that was now shoved down to his neck. This was the first time I could properly see his face without the hood concealing his features. His skin and eyes were a shade darker than mine, but if I hadn't known better, we could've as well been brothers. I understood his confusion when he first saw me.

Again I realized I was staring, but the assassin didn't either notice or didn't care. He paid me one brief glance before he focused on my shoulder again. "Let's take this out", he only said. Without stopping to wait for any kind of reply from me he curtly proceeded to position his right hand on my shoulder right above the wound while the other moved to hover over the little knife. "Stay still."

Aside from those vague words he gave me no warning at all before with one quick move he grabbed the knife and jerked it out.

My pained cry was partially muffled by me furiously clenching my teeth together. "Jesus _fucking_ Christ!" I cursed profusely through my teeth, not caring the slightest if Malik or anyone else heard me. The knife clattered to the floor and the makeshift doctor tightly pressed his hand on my shoulder, which now sported a large red stain which was spreading alarmingly fast.

"Take this off", Altaïr said, tugging at the collar of my sweater. I obliged reluctantly due to the pain of wiggling my right arm out of the sleeve, but only when I saw the long look he gave the zipper I realized he probably had no idea how it worked. Temporarily easing the pressure on my shoulder he unceremoniously peeled the left sleeve off as well.

The whole left shoulder and part of the left side of my white t-shirt was soaked in blood. I could smell its metallic odor wafting into my nose. I felt drops of the warm fluid running down my arm. _Damn. No bleach in the world is going to wash that off._

"It looks like much, but it is not", he said when he saw my horrified look. He used my discarded sweater to wipe away the excess blood and the wound. Then he rolled up the remaining sleeve and quickly covered the shoulder in a few layers of bandage. "It's just a flesh wound, and not a big one at that. You'll live."

"Well, it feels like-", a hiss of profanities as he lifted my arm to pull the bandage tight, "-like I won't. What's up with you always attacking before questioning?" I wanted to keep talking, because it was the most _normal_ thing I'd done in a while.

"A precaution."

"What, you still don't believe me?" I stifled another string of curses as he added more pressure by tightening the strips of linen.

"I never said that either."

I fell silent, slightly annoyed. Trying to hold a conversation with him was useless. All he did was talking in circles. _Why is he going through all this if he doesn't believe me?_

"You are lucky he didn't aim to kill", Altaïr continued quietly, presumably wanting to avoid the last topic.

I snorted and tilted my head back, against the wall. "Yeah, you bet. I am one lucky guy _indeed_", I said my tone so obviously sarcastic that I doubted even this assassin without a sense of humor could have missed it.

"Forgive him his hostility. For a while now Malik has wanted to aim the knife at me instead. I believe he got some satisfaction out of this." I couldn't tell if he was being serious or if this was his way of being funny. I probably would have asked, but his next question took me by surprise. "Besides, you can use both of your hands equally well, can you not?"

I paused and blinked. Altaïr didn't seem to register my confused silence in any way and continued wrapping the strips around my shoulder. _Had I told him that?_ I came to the conclusion that I hadn't. "Yeah? How do you know that?" I asked, staring at the ceiling and trying to appear casual.

If I had been looking at him then, I would have seen how the assassin's eyes very briefly glanced up from his work, and then were lowered again. "Because so can I", he simply said. With that he pulled the final knot tight and got up. "Don't move it. I need to speak with Malik."

Then he pulled his hood back up and left, indicating that the conversation had ended.


	5. A Change in plans

_A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long – school can be a major bitch, taking over all free time. Wish I had more to give you at the moment, but otherwise this chapter would be getting way too long._

_

* * *

  
_

**Chapter 5**

**A Change in plans**

As he expected, Altaïr found the Bureau leader sitting in the back of the next room, his eyes idly skimming over a small strip of paper but clearly waiting for him. "He's a loud one, isn't he?" Malik said absently, but the ever-present sharp edge in his voice. "I wonder if there's anyone in the city who didn't hear him."

"That is unnecessary", Altaïr said and closed the space between them with long strides. "I'm not asking you to trust him, Malik. I'm asking you to trust me to handle it."

"_Trust you_ to handle it?" Malik asked with mock incredulity. He got up from the table and leveled Altaïr with a calculating look. "Tell me, why are you so eager to defend him? Do you even know his name?"

"He says his name is Desmond."

"What kind of a name is that?"

Altaïr ignored the question. "He claims to be a friend."

Malik's brow furrowed. "Surely you don't believe him."

"In the light of what the men I've killed have told me, I don't know what to believe."

"You'd be better off if you had believed _me_ from the start."

Altaïr shrugged off the blunt response. "Everything I thought I knew of those men has proved wrong, and has only raised more questions than given answers. As much as they may have deserved their fate, we were too rash to judge them." He paused and slightly lowered his voice. "I do not want to repeat the mistake when someone willingly chooses to side with us. I have a feeling that by killing him, we lose something important."

"You have a _feeling_."

"It's the things he says, the way he looks at everything", Altaïr continued without stopping to wait for another lecture about making assumptions that was undoubtedly on its way. "He recognized me, he knew my name. He knows our Creed. He even knows about Solomon's Temple."

An icy silence followed his words.

"Look at his _face_, Malik."

Scoffing, the dark-robed assassin threw his remaining arm up and turned away. "I tried not to. One of you is more than enough to tolerate", he grumbled and laid the paper he'd been previously reading on the table. Then he turned back to Altaïr, his eyes narrowing just slightly. "Knowing your stubbornness I doubt you could be so strongly convinced merely by the obvious resemblance between you and your mysterious guest. He has told you something." He sounded almost accusing.

A rare feeling of hesitation lingered in Altaïr's short silence. "Yes", he finally answered flatly.

"And?"

"For the time being that will have to stay between him, I and Al Mualim."

Again the temperature of Malik's glare dropped by a few degrees, but when he eventually spoke, his tone was resigned. "Fine, then. Do as you please. Just don't expect any sympathy from me if Al Mualim orders you and him to be executed for breaking the Creed, _again_."

"I appreciate this, Malik."

"And I meant what I said before", he continued, pretending to not have even heard Altaïr. "Keep an eye on him. He's _your_ responsibility. Wounded or not, the freedom of movement which you allow him troubles me."

"It seems everything I do troubles you."

"Reflect on that", Malik quipped, an eyebrow raising in a manner that seemed most irritating to Altaïr at the moment. "But do so on your way to Acre."

A confused frown appeared on the other assassin's face. "Acre?" he echoed questioningly.

"Yes, Acre", Malik repeated, not dropping his condescending tone. He nodded toward the strip of paper that he had been reading just a moment ago. "That arrived from Masyaf while you were gone. Our Master wants you to proceed directly to Acre for your next mission as soon as possible", he explained as Altaïr moved to pick up the letter.

Malik waited while he read the short message. Altaïr's eyes were hidden in the shadow of his hood, but his tense posture was an obvious sign of his surprise. "This does not specify why we are suddenly in such a hurry", he pointed out, glancing up from the message.

"Because your job is not to ask why. You do what Al Mualim tells you to do – that is enough."

Altaïr ignored him. "Have you already sent a response?"

"And when do you suppose I could have done that? After the mess you caused at the execution I had a hard time getting our unfortunate Brother out of the city unnoticed. And after that I find _him_ in my Bureau." He inclined his head towards the doorway.

Unceremoniously Altaïr crumpled the paper and tossed it back on the table. "Then tell Al Mualim I shall go to Acre."

* * *

There was this one time I had heard that eavesdropping was rude. That was back then when I was working my first month as a bartender. I had been told that by a considerably inebriated customer who was trying to have an intimate conversation on the phone with his girlfriend while vomiting into a flower vase, which was probably one of the reasons why I never took the claim seriously. That, and my parents never really discouraged it.

When the assassin left me there cradling my left arm and my eyelids drooping half closed, I had been more than willing to welcome sleep as a blissful relief to the dreadful abuse I'd been through. However, when the low, muffled voices of the two men inside drifted into my ears, I suddenly found it harder to concentrate on the distant, lulling noise of the city instead.

For a while a sat there, hovering somewhere between sleep and awake, until I started to speculate. That was a mistake, because when I did that, I couldn't help but come to wonder what they were talking about. Me, very likely – but not knowing if Altaïr would go into details concerning my sudden appearance, I couldn't be sure of Malik's reaction.

The annoying tickle of curiosity now combined with worry slowly pulled me more and more awake, until I was squeezing my eyes shut mostly just for the sake of my headache, and my ears straining to catch _anything_ of the conversation in the other room.

As I said, I had heard that eavesdropping was something a proper person would not do, but then again, how "proper" can one remain in a situation like this?

_Come on, you wuss. _He_ does it all the time_.

That was no excuse at all, but for some nonsensical reason it worked. Slightly shifting weight to my right shoulder I bent my left leg under myself and pushed off the wall, carefully minding my left arm. Awkwardly I managed to get on my feet, and as quietly as I could I crossed the room's width to the doorway.

Still cradling my arm in my grip I pressed myself flat against the wall and sidled as close to the door as I dared. In my mind I brought up a picture of the other room as I had seen it in Altaïr's memories. Because I couldn't see either of the assassins, I figured they were at the far end, and probably talking quietly because most of the words were still too garbled to make out. Making sure I wasn't casting any telltale shadows and attempting to make my breathing as silent as was humanly possible, I inched closer.

_Yeah, and this won't make you look like a spy at all_, my voice of Reason commented snottily. Knowing from experience to just ignore it, I directed my full attention to the voice that I now recognized as Malik's.

"-your job is not to ask why-"

I frowned, knowing the tone all too well and not being particularly happy to hear it. _Come on, Malik, give the guy a break_.

Not even inside the Animus could I read my ancestor's mind, but the unavoidable awareness of whatever he felt was always there. Having experienced the same he had, even though what I received was only an abridged Director's Cut, I couldn't help but feel some sympathy for the assassin. He did not deserve the treatment he got from the others.

In the other room more incoherent words were exchanged, and I wished I had a rock to lob at the overly loud merchants and beggars out in the streets to make them stay quiet for a second. Even my right bicep was starting to go sore as well from holding the left arm up against my chest for so long. _One damn bright idea this was_, I thought grumpily.

"-to Acre."

I used all my willpower to restrain myself from leaning through the doorway in order to hear better. The name I thought I'd caught immediately set my mind racing in hyperspeed. _What? Was that Acre? What of Acre? What of it? What-_

I'm glad I had kept my position, because if I had decided to satisfy my curiosity by peeking into the other room, I would have very likely been again barrelled into by Altaïr, who managed to catch me completely off guard by inhumanly silently emerging through the doorway. Reflexively I jumped away from him, which made him stop in his tracks and me grimace at the sudden jerk at my shoulder. He stared at me without saying a word, an eyebrow raised very slightly. A white bundle of cloth was folded in the crook of his arm.

"Uh", I said articulately. Suddenly I forgot what I wanted to say.

"I told you not to move your arm", Altaïr said.

"I didn't move it", I said quickly, finding my ability to speak again. "Listen, what-"

"If you move it, it will not heal and it will need to be cut off", the assassin continued with the same air of superiority that irritated me excessively.

"I _know_", I ground out.

"Do you want me to cut off your arm?" Altaïr spoke up again before I had a chance to continue.

"No!" I exclaimed, my voice rising out of sheer frustration. "If you'd just tell me-"

"Then sit down and get some sleep while you can", Altaïr concluded with a sense of finality, once again cutting me off as if I didn't even exist.

For a moment there we had a small-scale staring contest going on, his brown eyes meeting my own grayer ones, and for the first time I noticed that mine came to the exact same level with his. Apparently our almost twin-like resemblance was not limited to only our facial features. I was hardly surprised anymore, but the realization suddenly made me uncomfortably self-conscious.

Being very aware that I must have looked like a child throwing a temper tantrum I resignedly turned, marched back to my cushions and huffily plopped down, although paying extra attention to my shoulder. As much as I would have liked to, I was not intending to fall asleep until I got some answers, and I tried my best to convey that in the glare I gave him once I had sat down. I tried to look for any signs on his face of what he was thinking, but aside from the eyebrow that stayed raised (was that _amusement?_) I found none.

_Damn. I'll never have that good of a pokerface_.

Altaïr moved as well, positioning himself directly between me and the doorway. "How much did you hear?" he then asked, probably taking note of my determined attitude.

"Acre", I said curtly. As degrading as it felt to be speaking upwards like this, my strained body sighed of relief once I was sitting down again. Most of the pain of all the bumps, bruises and blows was being replaced by a numbing deliriousness, but I was _not_ planning to give into it before I knew it was safe to close my eyes without having a suspicious assassin stab me in my sleep.

For a moment Altaïr regarded me in silence, during which my impatience grew. It didn't take a genius to see he was trying to come up with something so vague that it would definitely just annoy me more. "Yes, Acre", the assassin finally admitted. "We're leaving early in the morning."

I stared at him, waiting for more. "'We'?" I then asked, when it became obvious he wasn't going to continue on the subject.

"Yes."

"Don't I get a saying in this?"

"No."

Once again I found how aggravatingly futile it was to try to get any information out of him. My patience that was already on thin ice was starting to crack again. "I'm like some freaking _luggage_ for everyone to be tossed around. What does it take to convince you people? Should I consider myself a prisoner?" I made sure to pack as much biting sarcasm into the last question as I could.

The sharp look Altaïr gave me next was warning. "We will talk, but not here", he said, lowering his voice notably. "Mind your words."

I opened my mouth, and then closed it again as I thought about what he had just said. _So, he hadn't told Malik?_ I was itching to ask him, but swallowed my inquiries as Altaïr broke our eye contact, apparently believing I had nothing more to say, and extracted a long, wide strip of strong cloth from the bundle he'd been carrying. The rest he threw into the corner.

Not bothering to mask my suspicion I leaned away from him as he crouched down at my left side and promptly snaked the cloth under my arm and elbow. "What are you doing?"

"Tying up your arm so you can't move it." He proceeded to make a loop around both my neck and then my chest, forming something that resembled a tight swing.

"Why would _you_ care?" That came our ruder than I had intended. The assassin's non-verbal vengeance was to pull the overall contraption tight unnecessarily forcefully, making me flinch.

"You need to be able to stay on a horse", Altaïr said flatly and made a series of complicated loops and knots to ensure the cloth stayed on. "This way you won't slow me down as much." _As if that's _my_ fault_. Then he rose, from which I understood he was finished.

"Figures", I muttered, daring a glance down at my arm. I tried to move it, but found the whole limb from the upper arm to the wrist was strapped tightly against my chest. Slowly I relaxed, feeling that the suspensions held well enough.

"Put that on before you leave the Bureau. You will attract a little less attention to yourself." I looked up and saw his hand pointing towards the white bundle he'd tossed into the corner before. Before turning his back on me he gave me one last look. "Rest. You look like you need it."

Then he was gone again, leaving me with only the voices of Jerusalem and my thoughts to keep me company.

_So, Acre_. I puffed out an exhausted sigh and lowered my back onto the cushions.

_Anything to live to see another day, right?_

After one minute of just lying there in a half-sitting position and absently following the dancing spots of sunlight with my tired eyes, I was too happy to oblige to the assassin's request.

_At least he didn't say anything about the eavesdropping_.

* * *

In the darkness of Abstergo's Animus chamber a momentary flash of dim light illuminated an expanse of the sterile glass tabletop of Doctor Vidic's desk. The flash was hardly even a fraction of a second, but enough to be noticed by bare eye.

The flash was soon followed by another, a longer one this time.

Then another.

And another.

After the fourth flash the black monitor that was directly connected to the Animus came to life, its light reflecting off the desk's glass surface and bouncing off the walls, bathing half of the lab in a white light.

If anyone had been watching, they would have seen how the white noise on the monitor stopped for exactly 5.2 seconds, and instead displayed an ivy-clad ceiling that sunlight streaked with gold.

Lucy Stillman's eyes moved underneath her lids. Her head rolled to the side on the chair where she'd fallen asleep in, completely oblivious to the light that played on her features before it died away, and the monitors were dark again.


	6. Heart to heart

_A/N: Sort of a filler chapter, sorry. Just to get things rolling in the next chapter. I read and appreciate all your reviews and favs and stuff, thank you!_

_BY THE WAY, doubleleaf at DeviantART made an awesome illustration of Chapter 4! Check it out (without the spaces): http:// .com/ art/ from-quot-White-Noise-quot-144172443_

_

* * *

  
_

**Chapter 6**

**Heart-to-heart**

Eventually it felt like I managed to get only ten minutes of dreamless sleep before I was woken up by something hitting me in the midriff. With a sharp breath I jerked awake and sat up, my mind still muddy and disoriented. It took me a second to recall exactly why there was an assassin standing over me, his white robes standing out in the surrounding darkness.

Blearily I blinked towards the hole in the ceiling, seeing a bright, starry night sky. For some reason it irritated me to notice that the sun wasn't even up yet. _Early in the morning indeed_. I looked down, seeing a hefty chunk of white bread that was responsible for so rudely waking me up sitting in my lap. A cup of water and a small fruit (orange?) were on the floor not far from my cushion.

"Eat", came Altaïr's voice from underneath the shadow of his hood. "Malik will shortly escort you to the gates."

I looked back up. Now that my eyes had better gotten used to the dark, I saw the small pack he'd swung over his shoulder. I frowned at it. "Malik? And why not you?" I asked tentatively. After our last encounter I wasn't too eager about the thought of being left alone with the man.

Altaïr was already turning. "I will go ahead and ready the horses."

"No, wait", I hurried to say. I shoved the bread off my lap and started struggling onto my feet. "Can't I just come with you?"

"You may, if you can", Altaïr called over his shoulder. Without pausing to wait for an answer he sprang forward, jumped and caught hold of a ledge on the uneven wall. Using that he pulled himself up through the hole, apparently with no difficulty at all. I was left staring after him dumbfounded once the tails of his robes had disappeared into the night. The stars winked at me through the wooden lattice.

_Smartass_, I thought sullenly when I went to pick up the bread that had rolled on the floor. I examined it closely. My voice of Reason reared its head, presenting the chance that might be poisoned – _how can you be sure what they've been planning_ – but eventually I deemed it very unlikely for the sake of my demandingly growling stomach. The small orange I simply stowed into my jeans pocket – I doubt I'd manage to peel it with one hand without making a sticky mess.

The bread was mostly tasteless and felt dry in my mouth, but I bit down on it greedily anyway, knowing that it could be the only food I might get in a while. I downed most of the water with one gulp, and the rest I splashed onto my face. In a pathetic attempt to make myself more presentable I rubbed vigorously at the traces of blood on my temple and shivered as the cold water trickled down my neck. The air had become surprisingly chilly during the night, contrasting the smothering heat of daytime.

The bundle of white cloth that Altaïr had supplied me with turned out to be a regular looking robe with long slits both in the back and in the front to allow better movement. It was light, but hooded and loose enough to offer some protection from the sun. I dangled the garment an arm's length away and eyed it critically. Just throwing the thing on the top of my modern day jeans and bloodstained Abstergo t-shirt felt a little silly, but after glancing down at myself I decided anything would help me pass under the guards' radar better than my current attire. I winced several times when I accidentally slapped myself on the sore shoulder while trying to pull the robe down over my head with my only functioning arm. The left sleeve hanging empty at my side made me feel a bit lopsided, but there wasn't much I could do about it.

Once I finally managed to get my head through the cursed piece of clothing, my poor nerves were once again given a shock when I happened to glance towards the doorway. The Bureau leader was standing there, watching my arduous wriggling with an overall disapproving expression. I froze immediately.

"Not as easy as you'd think, is it?" Malik's tone was chilly.

I replied with a stare. All the snarky responses that came to my mind were much too undiplomatic considering the circumstances, so I held my tongue. Remembering what Altaïr had told me before, I could imagine how conflicting the situation must have been for Malik. I suddenly became aware of my haggard appearance. I wished for something to cover my face with.

"_Forgive him his hostility. For a while now Malik has wanted to aim the knife at me instead."_

Just as I was starting to feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the assassin's icy glare, he turned halfway, as if leaving. "Are you coming or not?" he asked impatiently. He had an unique skill of making me feel myself more stupid than I actually was.

"Yes, _sir_", I slipped, relying on him to hopefully miss the subtle bite in my tone as I followed him inside. I wasn't one hundred percent sure where exactly he was leading me, because as far as I knew, the Bureau was limited to only one room in addition to the covered yard. But if Altaïr trusted him to do the job, I guess didn't have much choice on the matter.

It was even darker inside (_do assassins have night vision or something?_), which is why at first I didn't notice the pitch black hole in far end wall before Malik led me right in front of it. It was a narrow door-like opening wedged between two shelves. I looked at it in wonder, racking my brain to come up with any recollection of seeing it there before – of _Altaïr_ seeing it there before.

"I never knew of this route", I muttered mostly to myself as Malik motioned me to follow him through the narrow door. A similarly narrow space had been squished between two walls, hardly wide enough for two grown men to pass each other. A stale whiff of the air suggested it was not used often.

The assassin ahead of me huffed. "Then how do you suppose _I_ would be able to get out of this place?" he asked haughtily as he went on without even turning to look at me.

I felt a tinge of embarrassment. _I hadn't thought of that_. "Magic?" I suggested snidely. I got no answer from the assassin, only the shuffling of his heavy black overcoat as he walked, which only reinforced my idea that sense of humor had not in fact yet spread to the Middle East by the time of the Crusades.

I almost walked into the assassin when he suddenly stopped without warning. There was clinking of metal against metal and then a small creak as he unlocked a heavy door at the end of the corridor. A strip of dim light penetrated the blackness and Malik peeked out to the street on the other side. I felt a breeze of fresh air on my face.

"Stay right behind me and be quiet." The silhouette of his head moved as he turned to give me a sharp sideways glance. "And put on your hood!" he hissed.

If he could have seen it, I would have rolled my eyes, but I humored him anyway to avoid further conflict. _Who cares?_ _There's nobody else out than us. Paranoid ass_. I followed Malik outside and stood near the building's wall as he locked the door behind us. I felt somehow exposed when he finally took the lead again, steering straight into the first alley in sight.

Probably on purpose Malik kept his pace brisk and fast, forcing me to do so as well to keep up with him. The wound on my shoulder wasn't hurting now, but I feared it would start if we had a long way to walk. So instead of trying to get a clue of where we were I stayed on his heels and concentrated on counting my steps. The hem of my light robe billowed in the gusts of wind that blew through the deserted streets.

_Thirty_.

After a number of shortcuts through narrow alleyways I was hopelessly lost, so I settled on keeping my eyes peeled on Malik's back, because apparently he knew where to go, and I still had trouble telling all the buildings apart. Their walls were tinted with a neutral hue of blue in the little light of the stars, and their windows looked like big, dark eyes deep in their bruised sockets.

_Now look who's being paranoid. Seventy-nine._

Ever since the first time we had ducked into a back alley from the main street I had had a feeling we wouldn't be exiting the city through the front gate. Twice we stopped and waited until a guard patrol had passed us. Both times uncomfortable memories from my haphazard "arrival" managed to leak through my determination to focus on walking and nothing else, and made me lose count. Due to all the secrecy I wasn't particularly surprised when we rounded one more corner and arrived in front of a gate, much smaller, less reinforced and most importantly, unguarded.

A small distance from the gate outside the city wall I saw a white shape and heard a muted whinny of a horse. _Altaïr_, I thought, releasing a breath I didn't notice I'd been holding. Again I almost bumped into Malik as he slowed down and stopped just next to the gate.

"Hurry now", he said briefly. The words were directed to me, but his eyes were scanning our surroundings, lingering particularly long on the deep shadows cast by the tall battlements. Feeling a rare surge of excitement from getting outside the confining stone walls, I picked up my pace again, leaving Malik behind. But before I'd managed to exit the city, I was halted by his voice.

"One more thing."

I turned my head. This time the assassin was looking directly at me. "I don't know what you did to convince Altaïr. I don't care what he thinks of you." He lowered his voice. "If after this I find the Templars on my Bureau's doorstep, I _will_ find a way to kill you myself."

_There just is no way of getting through to this guy_.

"Excellent", I said, annoyed. "I'll just tell them that if I see any, okay?" Then I turned my back as arrogantly as I could, risking the chance of soon finding another knife between my shoulders.

Altaïr met me soon, walking two horses by the reins, one white and one color I couldn't see in the dark. I guessed the white outfit he'd assigned me could be seen from a distance away.

"Malik says goodbye", I said flatly, predicting he'd ask anyway.

For a second I thought I saw a tiny smile.

* * *

The rocky shortcut we'd taken to avoid the largest Crusader garrisons and patrols still went on and the air was getting increasingly hot in the growing light of day.

It'd been clear Altaïr was bent on reaching Acre as quickly as possible, and after learning that I had been taught how to stay on the saddle, he had taken both of the reins and prompted the animals into gallop. I had clutched the horse's mane in panic, feeling horribly imbalanced with one of my arms tightly strapped in place. Each thrum of hooves on the dark road sent vibrations running through the whole shoulder. We had not slowed down until the road turned too steep to keep up the speed.

I had known there would be questions, and they did come eventually, when they first rays of light peeked over the horizon. But to my surprise they did not concern anything I thought they would. They were questions about my family, childhood and our lifestyle on our secluded farm. I had answered sparingly and cautiously, not being sure what the assassin was getting at.

"What did they want?" Altaïr broke the long silence that had fallen between us almost one hour ago. I jerked awake from the apathetic trance I'd been in since.

I had kept myself from nodding off by trying to recall every single detail from my time inside the Animus, and everything Lucy and Doc had ever told me. I didn't understand and wouldn't pretend to understand the science behind all this, but at least I could make a little more tolerable for myself.

_Poor Lucy. Wonder what she's doing right now_.

For a ridiculously long time I didn't realize I'd been asked a question. I looked up from the mane of my chestnut brown mare to the dusty, narrow mountain pass ahead and then to my companion who rode right at my side on his white arabian horse. The assassin and the horse were glowing like a torch in the warm light of the morning sun.

"What? Who?" I asked absently.

"This... _Abstergo_ you speak of. You never said what they wanted of you."

_Ah, here we go_. I frowned as I tried to piece together a plausible explanation. "Remember Solomon's Temple?" The chilly glance sent in my direction told me that he remembered. "Right", I continued, regretting about bringing up the no doubt still sore subject so tactlessly. "From what I know, they're interested in the artifact you and your friends found down there. The Piece of Eden, was it?"

"How do they know about _it?_" There was a sharp edge in Altaïr's voice, betraying his surprise.

"I don't know how they know anything, they just do", I replied, getting annoyed. I shifted on my saddle, wanting to curse as my back let out a loud, gross pop. "They called me an assassin."

"Are you?"

"No", I snapped. I kept my gaze firmly on the road, but I could _feel_ those watchful eyes boring into me. "Not really", I added after a pregnant pause.

"It sounds like your parents raised you to become one."

"You call it that, okay? I call it imprisonment", I said louder. "That's why I left." The words had come out more aggressive than I had intended. Realizing this, I snapped my mouth shut and chewed on my tongue. _Now you're spilling your guts to your ancestor. Stop while you can._

"Why do they want the Piece of Eden?"

"Ah – I don't know, I guess for the same reason everyone would. Anyway", I said, awkwarwdly changing the subject. "You know the rest, about the machine and your memories. How about you tell me why you're hauling me to Acre instead of Masyaf."

"You didn't answer my question", Altair said.

"Well then, looks like we're at a stalemate."

I could _sense_ the displeasure that radiated off the assassin, even though I wasn't looking at him. After a silent moment he finally spoke: "I have been given the name of my next target."

I was genuinely surprised. _Already?_ "That's a bit sudden. Who is it?" I understood what I was asking must have strictly confidential, but I decided to risk it now that I'd finally gotten him to talk. I had the feeling he was inclined to trust me enough.

Altaïr hesitated. "Sibrand", he eventually replied. "Master of the Knights Teutonic."

"The Knights Teutonic? Seriously?" I took his silence as a "yes". I huffed. "Jesus. Good luck with that."

"You seem to use the name of your deity lightly."

The unusual statement took me by surprise. "Yeah, I guess", I admitted slowly. "It's a habit of sorts. It's not like I mean anything by it. What's it to you?"

"Nothing. Beliefs don't have anything to do with this war", Altaïr replied. "It's all about power."

Having seen through Altaïr's eyes what religion had done to the Holy Land, I'd been trying to avoid this kind of conversation, but against my will I was fascinated. "Which side do you think is right then?" I asked tentatively, giving him a sidelong look.

A pause. "The Brotherhood doesn't make a difference between two evils."

"What's the point in getting rid of all these people? The assassins won't end up being exactly popular if you keep killing leaders from both sides."

"Somehow they are all connected."

"I get it, but how is this going to help anyone?" I argued. All men who Al Mualim had sent Altaïr to kill had been mad, drunk with power, but this was no way to bring peace. "Once a leader dies, isn't just another one going to take his place?"

"Maybe so", Altaïr said vaguely. "I will get answers when we return to Masyaf." For a moment he looked like he might still continue, but then I saw a change in his posture as he suddenly sat up straight and jerked the reins back. Both of our horses came to a halt. Unconsciously I again weaved my fingers into my horse's mane.

"What is it?" I asked hurriedly, looking from the assassin to where his eyes were now fixed on - the turn in the road that disappeared behind the rocks further ahead.

"Horses", was the brief response. He was already yanking at the reins to make his horse turn around. "We need to turn back."

Altaïr pulled my horse along with him, quickly heading towards some rocks on the side of the road, shadowed by a dry, stunted little thicket of bushes. _Horses?_ I looked over my shoulder, trying to find any clue of them. Hadn't Altaïr said this route was used very rarely?

Very soon after we had backed up behind the rocks, I heard it as well. A steady thrum of galloping hooves grew gradually louder. The chestnut mare twitched beneath me, tossing its head and dancing nervously on the spot. Seeing Altaïr's warning look I patted the horse's neck to make it calm down, although I must admit I wasn't feeling any calmer myself. I held my breath.

Then four or five riders shot past us, the sound of their hooves like thunder on the dry ground, raising a raising a trail of dust. White surcoats billowed in their wake and sunlight reflected off their great helms – blurs of white in the desert's dust. The red crosses emblazoned on their chests were imprinted on my retinas for a second, leaving a lingering streak of crimson in my vision.

It wasn't until I blinked and the red faded when I finally dared to breathe freely again. I listened as the sounds moved further downhill and then disappeared.

"Templars." Altaïr spoke aloud what I'd been only thinking. He ushered the horses out of the shade and back on the road. I looked back toward the direction where we had come from, now seeing only a slowly drifting cloud of dust marking the path where the knights had ridden.

"Aren't they in a hurry", I commented. "Good for us, right?" The sudden rush of adrenaline made me talkative.

"This path leads only to Jerusalem."

"Maybe they heard of Majd Addin", I suggested. "I mean, your attendance to the execution isn't exactly a secret."

Altaïr tore his eyes off the dusty road and again collected both of the reins. "They would need more men if they were hoping to get me."

I had to stifle a smile. _Good to have you back, Altaïr_.

* * *

A salty smell was in the air as we approached our destination, mixing into a lingering stench of smoke that seemed to emanate from the earth everywhere around us. The closer we got to the sea, the more I became aware of the battle scars that marred the landscape. In the distance bare, charred trees stuck out of the ground like ghostly, spidery fingers, marking the extent of the fires that had burned during the battle when the Crusaders and Saladin's army had clashed.

Dodging the ragged, filthy stream of civilians that wandered in and out of the battered city gates, Altaïr steered our horses toward the temporary stables outside the walls. Assuming that he knew what he was doing, I gaped at the sorry sight that was the city of Acre.

I'd only ever seen the city from the inside, but the facade wasn't looking that good either. The siege engines had mauled the buildings beyond the walls and spread fires into the city. But where they had hit the tall grey battlements, the stones had collapsed and rained on the defenders. Compared to the colorful, lively chatter of the people of Jerusalem, the citizens walked with their heads bowed and their conversations muted into mumble, as if afraid of being overheard. A wide berth was given to the few guards that stood near the gates, eyes lazily scanning the grey crowd.

Charred remains that had darkened a part of the city wall with soot revealed the location where the stables had formerly been. Feeling disgusted I looked at the large black areas on the ground that showed where the pyres of the fallen had burned.

History had never been one of my stronger areas of expertise, but I didn't need to know the details to understand that the capture of the city had been brutal. I glanced up to the battlements and saw the red and white banners of King Richard flapping calmly in the breeze. The guards moving around on the walls looked almost like silhouettes against the light blue sky. The sight made me feel a tug of worry in the pit of my stomach.

"The place is full of Crusaders", I commented quietly, disheartened by the thought. My strange feeling of security had been steadily flaking off during the long ride, and it wasn't until now when I actually realized that we needed to be able to move undetected in a city teeming with Crusaders.

_He always made it look so easy_.

"They never look twice", Altaïr said calmly, sliding off his saddle. In a considerably clumsier fashion I followed suit, being able to use my right hand only. I had to hide a grimace of pain when my knees almost gave in beneath me. My thighs were sore from squeezing the horse's flanks and it felt like my poor posture had left my back in a permanent hunch. Surprisingly, the shoulder was mostly fine, though. I guess that was an improvement.

"So, how does this work?" I asked half-heartedly while Altaïr secured our horses near a huge bale of hay. I massaged the small of my back with my knuckles and glanced up, taking note of the archers upon the walls. "We just... walk in?"

"Stay close and move slowly. Keep your hood up and do _not_ show your face to anyone."

I was starting to feel strangely discriminated, not being able to safely show my face anywhere. "What if there's a Templar?" I asked, my tone blatantly unenthusiastic.

"_Especially_ if there's a Templar." I felt a touch on my right arm as Altaïr brushed past me. "Let's go."

* * *

_A/N: AAHH, LONG, LONGER, CHAPTER 6. I tried to not venture too deep into the murky waters of religious contemplation, just in case. ;)_


	7. Wayward

_A/N: Sorry again that this took so long. I got my swine flu shot, which made me all sore and practically crippled my left arm (ironic, isn't it) but luckily gave me a reason to stay home and write a little bit._

_Happy belated Christmas, everyone!_

_

* * *

  
_

**Chapter 7**

**Wayward**

Clearing the guards at the gates had been easier than I had thought. Just as Altaïr had said, none of the vacant-expressioned guards spared us a second glance as we merged into the slow pace of the crowd.

Inside the city itself Altaïr was slowly starting to steer away from the flow of people, but I had trouble keeping my eyes on his back. Several piles of bodies covered by large sheets littered the courtyard beyond the gate. I couldn't help but stare at them with some morbid fascination. A vague, unmistakable smell of something rotten assaulted my nostrils as we passed one by. Reflexively I brought my sleeve up to my nose to block out the smell of death.

_There was none of this in the Animus_. A small, limp hand was sticking out from under one of the sheets. Its size suggested it did not belong to an adult. _Or I just never paid attention_.

Disturbed, I averted my eyes and caught up to Altaïr. He had quickened his pace once we were past the main courtyard. "Why won't they just burn them?" I muttered to him, disgust evident in my voice. The assassin's elbow directed me toward a cobbled street with less people and more space to move freely.

"There are too many. More die of the diseases than of the battles themselves", he mumbled back to me. "Acre is a port city in the middle of an ongoing war. Crusaders come and go. _Everything_ spreads."

"Hm", I grunted in reply as we passed a group of guards in white uniforms, leisurely leaning on a wall and chatting. I forced myself to look straight ahead and not show my nervousness that seemed to grow on every step we took further into the city. "I don't remember having this many guards around last time", I remarked quietly once I was sure we were out of the group's earshot.

Altaïr seemed distracted somehow, but replied anyway. "William de Montferrat was a powerful man. It's no wonder his death has everyone on edge."

"Isn't that going to make your – uh – work more difficult?"

"No."

I felt awkward. "Oh. Great."

"With your help it would be even easier."

The implications of what the assassin had just said took a moment to sink in. When they did, I shot him a surprised sideways look. "You mean-"

"I _mean_", he cut me off, "that you need something to prove your allegiance." We rounded a corner, but I wasn't paying that much attention where we were going. "Have you given any thought to how you're going to explain yourself to everybody else?"

"No, but apparently _you_ have", I huffed. I was starting to have trouble keeping up with him and talking at the same time. "You finally decided to believe me instead of your murderous friend?"

I received a warning look, indicating me to keep my voice down. "What you're telling me is preposterous, but I can't truly bring myself to believe you are a spy. The things you know are..." He trailed off, and I saw him throw another glance at my direction. "However, convincing me is not the challenge."

I found my attention to the surrounding world slowly starting to wander as I chewed over the pressing matter I'd just been reminded. After my initial panic before meeting Altaïr I had given very little thought to the future – or the past? _Man, this is so confusing_.

Planning ahead hadn't felt important at the time. There had been only the instinct to survive, to stay alive. On some level I think I still in a way had believed that this was all just a bad dream, caused by all that overtime in the Animus. That soon Doc would come and wake me up, being his usual cranky self, bitching about how we had a schedule to keep to.

Altaïr broke me out of my thoughts by grabbing my good shoulder and pulling me out of the way of a man who was unsteadily balancing a hefty-looking box in his wiry arms. "Pay attention", the assassin said and let go.

"Yeah", I droned, once again feeling the icy lump of anxiety setting in the pit of my stomach. _I'm not going to wake up_.

I now saw we had followed the street into a courtyard bordered by tall grey stone buildings. A small amount on people in European clothing loitered around a fountain in the middle of the open, sitting on its cracked sides or on the benches arranged in the shade of the houses.

I followed Altaïr as he slowed down and headed towards an empty bench, keeping a fair distance between us and the civilians. I instead was peering upwards at the rooftops, trying to determine where I was getting the odd sense of familiarity from.

"You wait here", I heard Altaïr say and I looked at him. He'd turned to me and inclined his head toward the empty bench. "I'll go in first, explain the situation to the Rafiq and open the door for you. We'll avoid a similar incident that you had with Malik."

_Oh, we're _here_. Of course we're going to the Bureau_. Although the place did look a bit different from the street level. I examined the grey building, bare aside from a couple of narrow windows too high to properly see through, now recognizing it as the local Bureau.

I looked back to Altaïr, raising an eyebrow in mild surprise. "Really? You're actually leaving me _alone?_ By myself?" I asked and even cracked a tiny smile. "I don't know if I should feel flattered."

The assassin gave me a pointed stare. "Would you rather climb?"

I got the hint and sat down, cringing as the strained muscles on my lower back and thighs slowly relaxed. Expectantly I glanced back at Altaïr and got a silent nod in return.

"I'll come back to get you", he only said briefly before turning and walking off, leaving me sitting alone in the cool shade.

_Alone_.

Grunting, I leaned back and straightened my legs and enjoyed the small moment of peace amidst the chaos that had been my life for the last twenty-four hours or so. Resting the back of my head against the wall behind me I looked up to the blue autumn sky where white wisps of clouds sailed, occasionally blocking the sun and casting shadows upon the city. A dark pillar of smoke mixed into the clouds, rising from a fireplace or a pyre – I didn't want to think about it.

It was a relief to see nobody had taken particular interest in me or Altaïr. I guess they were used to seeing all kinds of people coming and going through the port, so two more travellers weren't even noticed.

I was so captivated by the screaming seagulls that circled in the sky above me that had it not been for the bright reflection of sunlight that got my attention, I would've probably sat there staring at the birds like nothing had happened. However, at the edge of my vision I noticed how the sun that was peeking from behind a cloud caught on something metallic.

When I turned my head to see what it was, my breath hitched in my throat.

_Templars_.

Three of them.

My mind screamed conflicting instructions while my whole frame tensed, but something kept me from getting up regardless of the shock caused by the sight of three white-cloaked knights moving across the very courtyard I was in. The red crosses stuck out in the grey mass like sore thumbs. Without daring to blink I stared at their bearers.

People parted before the knights, out of respect, fear or both. As they got closer and my heart rate climbed, I was starting to have harder time suppressing the instinctual reactions that either were telling me to run for my life or stay where I was. Unwanted, vivid images of Altaïr's encounters with the Templars surfaced in my mind. Without an apparent reason my left hand started itching uncomfortably.

_Calm down. They don't know who you are_.

I bowed my head and forced myself to stay perfectly still while I watched the feet of the approaching Templars from beneath the brim of my hood. Instead of heavy armor these knights wore light leather underneath their cloaks. The hems of their white coats were smeared with dust and their pace was hasty, as if they were in a great hurry.

The part of my brain that still believed in logic saw fit to make itself known again, telling me there was something different in these three knights. These were not those heavily armed patrollers usually stationed at Crusader garrisons.

These were messengers.

I kept my eyes on the feet that were moving diagonally across the courtyard towards the mouth of a smaller alley. Were these the same ones we saw before? I don't know. I dared to raise my head just a little bit. None of the knights showed much interest to their surroundings, striding briskly forwards. If these were truly messengers as I suspected stronger each moment, they had something of importance to deliver.

And that, of course, put me in a most difficult situation.

_What would Altaïr do?_

_That's the perfect guideline right there._

For one short second I had a heated moral argument with myself. _Stay here_, he had said. My gaze followed the backs of the Templars until they rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.

_Well, he _did_ ask for my help. Almost_.

Slowly I stood up. _I bet he'll thank me later_.

Excitement and a new kind of determination fuelling my steps I took after the knights, simultaneously tugging my hood lower onto my brow. At the moment I felt extremely grateful that Altaïr had made me wear it.

Once I also rounded the corner to the alley I'd seen the Templars disappear to, I found it ridiculously easy to see which direction they had gone to. If the irritated muttering and the sidelong looks toward the far end of the street were anything to go by, the knights had simply plowed through the people. And incidentally, they had left a wide gap in the crowd in their wake, allowing me to wade through the citizens relatively easily.

_It's like they're not even trying to make this difficult. Guess the Templars are starting to let themselves go_.

Keeping the three knights in my sight got even easier as they exited the narrow side alleys into a wide main street. The carefully paved street continued straight ahead until ending in a tall gateway that rose above all the rooftops. Aware that I must have looked like a complete tourist, very inconspicuously I gawked at the gate, seeing a new set of banners draped over it. I recognized the black cross insignia, both on the banners and on the coats of the men standing guard at the gate and preventing anyone from going through it – Knights Teutonic.

The screams of the seagulls increased the closer I got to the gate, as did my anxiety that was starting to return. I hesitated and slowed my pace.

The docks?

The Templars went on, heading straight for the gateway. The guards came to meet them halfway, their hands warily positioned on the hilts of their swords. Even from a distance away I saw their grave expressions. One of the guards lifted a hand in a formal greeting, while his mouth formed words I couldn't make out.

One of the Templars removed his helm and stepped forward while I racked my brain, trying to bring up all the occasions Altaïr had come across the Teutonic Order. The whole docks district was controlled by them. What business did Templars have with the Teutons?

_Don't just stand there. Get closer. Find a place to sit._

I snapped out of my daze and tore my eyes from the scene at the gate. _Don't stare_. I quickly scanned the courtyard and found another bench not too far from the conversing knights. It was occupied by a rather ragged-looking old man who appeared to be half asleep. He didn't even look up when I approached and forced myself to appear as casual as I could.

As I sat down, I smelled a strong odor of old wine drifting around the nodding man – now I knew why no one had been sitting next to him – but at least now I had an excellent opening to observe the conversation that was starting to heat up at the gate. Both the knight's and the guard's gestures were more heated and the unsatisfied frowns on their faces deeper, but their voices were still too quiet for me to hear.

To find my right hand something to do I awkwardly folded it upon my left bandaged arm and fixed my eyes on a wall at the other side of the courtyard. I thought I should try to avoid looking like I was staring at the knights – not that it probably would've mattered much, as they were already collecting odd looks from the other citizens who passed by. They were quickly dispersed by a shout from one of the Templars.

After the waving and talking had gone one for a minute, my hopes of finding out something of importance were starting to fade. That, and the old drunk next to me was smelling worse each second. _What am I looking at here? Damn Altaïr and his inhuman hearing_.

Then the Teuton who had been engaged in conversation with the Templar turned and waved at one of the other guards. "You!" I heard his heavily accented voice ring out. "Fetch Master Sibrand. Tell him it's urgent."

My heart leaped, curiosity taking the best of my nervousness. Sibrand?

The guard in question left half running, while I tried to look disinterested and completely unaffected by the name I had just heard. Despite the fact that I was only a short sprint away from three Templar knights and a couple of Teutons, and therefore helplessly outnumbered should anything go wrong, I was suddenly feeling strangely excited. I fidgeted with my empty sleeve.

Master of the Knights Teutonic. _Man, this really must've been important_.

Just as the drunk gave me a start by letting out a loud snore, the guard returned, emerging through the gate. Beside him strode a tall blond man. For a second I forgot my facade and stared at the man, realizing that I was looking at the very person who was the reason why I'd been dragged into this filthy city. _Holy shit. I'm on the same courtyard with Altaïr's next target_. I didn't know if I was lucky or just very, very unlucky.

"What's the meaning of this?" he shouted before he was even near the three Templars. His tone was impatient and his long legs forced the guard to hurry to keep up with him. The man's pale face was tightened into a worried expression that seemed to form a permanent frown on his brow. I took note of the longsword hanging on his left side.

"Master Sibrand." The first Templar inclined his head slightly. I did too, hiding beneath my hood. _Don't stare_, I once again reminded myself.

Whatever words were exchanged between them, I heard none. Their voices were deliberately hushed, which made me extemely frustrated. The hood narrowed my vision and I wished I could've punched the smelly drunk to silence his snoring. There was something important happening right in front of me and I couldn't make out what. I directed my frustration at the flap of fabric in front of my eyes. _How can anyone see shit with this thing on?_

"Damned assassins!" Sibrand's voice suddenly lashed out, the rough accent more profound than before. I twitched, suddenly nervous. My eyes found the Master's tall frame. The frown on the man's face had deepened and his armor-clad fist gestured furiously. "They're probably here right now, watching us!"

My insides froze. _Does he know?_

For the split second when I saw Sibrand's eyes sweep over the spot where I was sitting, I seriously considered standing up and making a run for it, but in the next moment his burning gaze had moved on. Then he started shouting, directing his words to the curious crowd behind the knights. "Do you find this amusing? _Do you?!_" he roared, surprising the guards beside him who all gave him an alarmed glance. The people who had been stopped by the scene he was making all jumped and scurried off, suddenly frightened by his fierce tone.

Sibrand seemed satisfied by the reaction. "Well laugh while you can!" he shouted to the confused crowd before turning on his heels. "Double the patrols", he spat to the nearest guard. Said guard mumbled something in response, causing Sibrand's face to contort with fury. "_All of them!_" he barked to the poor guard's face, who visibly cringed. "Recall our knights from the field if you must!" He turned to the Templar who had tucked his helmet under his arm. "You can tell your master that no one enters or leaves Acre without my knowledge, assassin or not."

At that point I felt I had heard enough. I thought I should try to slip out of the courtyard while everyone was distracted by Sibrand's rantings and while the scene I had witnessed was still fresh in my mind. It took great nerve to stand up and painfully slowly make my way towards the mouth of the street where I had come from. I forced my steps to remain calm while mulling over the thought of how much harder would Altaïr's work become because of this.

_You're not particularly helping, wandering off like that_-

But I _was_ helping. What better way to show I was one of the "good" guys, right?

Abruptly I was snapped out of my thoughts by something that graced my right shoulder, closely followed by an uncomfortably loud sound of pottery shattering into thousand pieces on the cobblestones. A shrill voice of a woman pierced the air.

"_Hey!_ Watch where you're going!"

Alarmed, I turned and saw a tiny woman standing above the remains of something that had a moment ago been a large jar, the hem of her crude frock sopping wet.

I took a step back. My eyes shot back toward the three Templars, feeling my heart practically trying to hammer its way through my ribcage. One of them had turned his head at the clamor I'd caused and was watching me. I noticed the hand that was resting upon the hilt of his sword.

I turned to the woman who was still just standing there with a deeply insulted expression on her dirty face. "Sorry", I forced out, my voice strangled.

_Go, just go, hurry_-

"Idiot!" I heard the woman curse at my back as I stiffly veered around and wuickly picked up my pace. At that moment my only thought was to get away. I'm actually surprised I didn't break into a run. _Just walk. Don't look back_.

I was so concentrated on my task of putting distance between myself and the still cursing lady that I almost choked on my own breath when I felt a someone grab my shoulder and pull me aside.

A pair of dark eyes nailed me with a harsh glare. "_What_ are you doing?" Altaïr asked.


	8. Safety and peace

_A/N: Again, thanks bunches for the reviews and favs! I'm surprised White Noise ended up getting so many positive reactions. :) Gah, now that I reread these chapters I notice just how many spelling mistakes pass under my radar... oh well, forgive me._

_Sorry again. I really meant to update a LOT earlier, but things came up... I got a job, I was in Rome... and... I'VE BEEN PLAYING AC2. There, I said it. Writer's block sucks._

_

* * *

  
_

**Chapter 8**

**Safety and peace**

The pink glow of a new day at the horizon behind the city skyline was barely visible, but Lucy felt she had already wasted too much time.

The ECG machine she'd borrowed from the lab filled the chamber with its torturously slow monotone beeping. Wires and IV tubes snaked around the Animus, supporting the life of the very person she'd worked so hard to keep safe.

Her countless notes about the Animus and its technical details once again lay in front of her. Lucy glanced up over the Animus' monitor, which had remained completely dead since last night. Eventually her eyes always wandered up from the fine print of her notes to scan Desmond's motionless body. She didn't know what she was hoping to see – a movement, a change? _Anything_. Letting the air from her lungs in a deep sigh she gathered the papers and put them aside. So much information, and all of it useless. She wanted to scream.

Despite her attempts to keep her hopes up, things looked very grim. Warren would not care – he wouldn't give a damn about if Desmond woke up or not. If nothing else worked, he'd fulfill his threat about inducing a coma. He would have his precious memory, one way or another.

The watch on her wrist beeped once, signaling that another full hour had passed. The date read with pale blue letters on the tiny digital screen. 6 SEP 2012.

Slowly Lucy massages her temples and closed her eyes, not bothering to sweep away the strands of hair that tickled her eyelids. As much as she wanted to believe that the _others_ would help, the chances were slim. She was the only one Desmond had right now. She couldn't give up.

It all just seemed so hopeless, and now their one week deadline was again down by one day.

If she could somehow find a way to bypass the Animus' programming and terminate all its prior data and connections to Desmond's DNA... of course the whole memory core would be wiped, meaning their work would have to be started over, but at least no damage would be done to his nervous system.

Lucy's thoughts were interrupted by a light, bright enough to shine through her closed lids. She looked up and frowned in confusion. The source of the light was the Animus' monitor.

"What the hell", she mumbled.

It was on, but displayed nothing but noise. She blinked and glanced at Desmond. He was still there, the HUD hovering over his face and showing the single unchanging message. SYNCHRONIZATION LOST.

"What the _hell_", she echoed her own words. Was the Animus glitching again?

Then the noise faded and a new image appeared.

For a second she stared at the screen.

The next moment her shaking fingers were fumbling at the keyboard for the "record" button, while her other hand grabbed her cell to dial Vidic's number.

* * *

As reckless as my wayward wandering might have been, all the glowering Altaïr had in store for me didn't make me regret it.

My heart still racing from the close encounter I allowed the assassin pull me into an alley, filthy and reeking of urine, but free of prying eyes and ears.

"_Desmond_." I didn't like the way he said my name. "Which part of 'wait here' did you not understand?" Altaïr's voice was ominously calm but the look he directed at me could've probably made a lesser man drop to his knees and beg for mercy. I, however, found the death stare considerably less threatening when he was not holding a blade against my throat like the last time. _What do you know. I've developed an Altaïr-immunity_.

I frowned, surprised at his unexpectedly strong reaction. "Look, before you start-"

He cut me off. "What am I supposed to think if I can't trust you enough to leave you for five minutes?"

"As if I could _do_ anything with a busted limb anyway." I gestured at my arm. "I know what it looks like, but really, I knew what I was doing." _I learned from the best, after all_.

"Three Templars and an archer on every rooftop!" Altaïr hissed. "What chance do you think you would have had?"

"I wasn't planning to take them on, for Christ's sake!" I exclaimed, and when I sensed another incoming order to control my voice, lowered my tone. "I thought I could be of help this way."

"Is deliberately getting in trouble your idea of helping?"

"Listen, I don't know how I got here, but I _do_ know that I have Abstergo to thank for it. My best bet to find some answers is to finish what I had to do, and I can go back." _If I can go back._ "Abstergo is after the same thing as the Templars. I'm not an enemy, so don't treat me like one."

Altaïr looked away and breathed deep through his nose, apparently collecting himself, until turning back to me again. "Then, perhaps", he said, an eyebrow rising pointedly, "an explanation is in order?"

Deep down I felt excited like a child with a secret, but I made sure I didn't miss anything as I quickly repeated the conversation I'd witnessed back near the docks. When I told Altaïr I assumed the Templars to be the same we'd seen before on the road to Acre, I saw from his face he had something negative to say about my logic, but the further I got in my story, the more thoughtful his expression grew.

When I got to the end I let my hood fall down and wiped my damp forehead. When Altaïr didn't bark at me to put it back on, and instead just stared at me deep in thought, his dark eyes slightly narrowed, I realized I had possibly just overheard something significant.

"So the port is where he's hiding", he finally said quietly. "He thinks his knights can protect him, but his madness blinds him." He paused. "But why are the Templars concerned?"

I made a lopsided shrug. "They're all Crusaders?" I suggested.

"Talal and Majd Addin were not."

A moment of silence ensued, because Altaïr had a point. It all was seemingly too random and chaotic for me to come up with any other explanation. Sure, I had tried to think back to the history books I'd read so long ago, but I had never bothered to study those in depth. A situation like this really made me regret that. I felt the assassin's calculating eyes on me and suddenly felt very self-conscious. I could just imagine the questions forming in his head, and hoped he wouldn't ask me any of them.

How much could I reveal? How much could I screw with history before causing something irreversible? _The Animus has already screwed with history enough by bringing me here_.

"I don't know more about this than you do", I said warily, not sure what to make of the assassin's expression. "Otherwise Abstergo would have found out about it already, and I wouldn't be here." _And I wouldn't be _alive, _for that matter_.

He nodded slowly, apparently dropping the subject for now. "We'll talk more at the Bureau. We have lingered too long already." He turned to the other end of the dirty alley, but not without sparing me one more sideways glance. "And put your hood back on."

I fell in step with him. "And I thought you wouldn't notice."

"I'm not asking you to take precautions for nothing, Desmond", Altaïr said firmly. "Robert de Sablé's Templars know my face, which means you will have to watch your back as well." There was no humor in the assassin's voice. "I don't like the implications of your story, but I feel I would like even less if he somehow found out about your connection to the Piece of Eden."

"Somehow I agree with you on that one."

When we exited to the bustling main street, our backs turned to the faint sound of seagulls, I had the strangest sensation that maybe somehow things would start to work out.

* * *

I concentrated on the swirls of dust drifting in the rays of light that the narrow windows allowed in, while Altaïr's calm hands unraveled the tangle of bandages from my chest and shoulder. Despite the dry, stuffy air caused by the endless collections of scrolls and tomes that the Bureau threatened to burst with, the room that had been assigned to me was actually quite nice. Very _un-hideout-ish_.

The Rafiq of Acre, an old scholarly man with an untamed beard and dark rings under his eyes hadn't been very talkative, aside from introducing himself as Fahim and showing me to the guest room. Although beneath his bushy eyebrows I'd seen his eyes, one dark and one milky white, dart between myself and Altaïr as he listened to our cover story about me being a relative from the west. _Not that big of a lie_, I'd thought, _just leaving out quite a lot_.

My jaw clenched as the dried blood around the wound cracked and flaked off. "Hey!" I exclaimed when a not too gentle finger prodded the shoulder.

"It's healing normally, if you don't move it too much", Altaïr's voice remarked. He pulled off the last of the linen strips and dropped them in a bowl beside him. Glad to be able to use my arm again, even if somewhat weakly, I experimentally stretched my creaking joints.

"Good, I was suffocating with that contraption", I grunted and awkwardly reached to scratch my back. I could breathe more freely now and felt like pulling a couple daring gymnastic moves, but didn't want to risk reopening the wound.

"This was only a temporary solution. You must refrain from deliberately seeking dangerous situations if you want to live to see the end of this."

I almost gave him a piece of my mind about how I felt about being patronized, but I knew that ultimately he was right. "Actually I just figured I'd try something new, since I've spent most of my life trying to _avoid_ dangerous situations", I said dryly instead and continued my task of eliminating the itch that had decided to settle in a difficult spot in my upper back. "So, now apparently you and the Rafiq are going to... scheme your devious plans or whatever that is you do." I chuckled at my own choice of words.

Altaïr obviously failed to see the humor. He raised an eyebrow. "You are welcome to _scheme_ with us once you're ready. Just remember what I said."

"Gotcha."

"Excuse me?"

"What? Uh... meaning, 'very well'."

He stared at me for a second, obviusly trying to see if I was joking. Then he apparently came to the conclusion it wasn't worth of his time, and giving a small shrug, wordlessly slipped through the room's half-closed door. Barefoot I went after him and pulled the door shut.

At the point of having travelled miles on horseback under hot desert sun, I was sure my bodily odors could've knocked out a grown man. I puffed out a relieved breath as I peeled off the filthy, blood-stained shirt and sent the bundle flying in a beautiful arc on the top of my dust-covered sneakers that I had haphazardly kicked off to the small room's corner. Altaïr had unsuccessfully tried to hide his interest towards their rubber soles and especially the zipper mechanism of my shredded sweater which had mysteriously materialized among his other belongings.

_Maybe I should let him study it_, I thought absently as I emptied my pockets on the floor, except for the orange – that I tossed out of the window. A beggar would have a stroke over it. Or maybe it'd hit a passing Templar in the head and give him a concussion.

Snorting with laughter at the mental image, I turned to the water basin in the corner of the room.

* * *

"Altaïr", the Rafiq greeted, not bothering to look up from his work. Despite his age the Rafiq's voice was strong and his light tone almost youthful. "I trust our guest finds my humble Bureau to his liking?"

"We thank you for your hospitality", Altaïr replied fluently and seated himself in a tall chair next to the Rafiq's desk. His hood was down and he ran a hand through his tousled hair. "Times haven't been favorable to him. For now we travel together, until I return to Masyaf."

Rafiq Fahim waved with his free hand. "I know. Malik sent a letter mentioning that the infamous Altaïr is travelling with an outlander bearing significant resemblance to himself." He paused to dip his quill pen in a bottle of black ink. "And I might say, he didn't sound particularly pleased about it."

"Is that so", Altaïr mused, a hint of sourness creeping into his voice. "I can't imagine why."

The quill's movement halted in the middle of a letter. His eyebrows furrowed, Fahim set it aside and looked up. "You know why he's concerned. After coming this far, I know you have more sense than to compromise the Brotherhood for selfish ends. _Even_ if you meant good by it."

"Exactly, Rafiq."

Altaïr's confident tone didn't make the one-eyed gaze on him waver. "I'm not your teacher anymore, but I'm the head of this Bureau for a reason." Fahim's features softened and he continued: "Brothers bring words from the north and south, and none of them are good. Conrad de Montferrat is frightened by his father's death and won't leave Tyre, and King Richard is gathering his men. With all the recent _unrest_ these deaths have caused here, Acre is left in the hands of the Crusader knights. Namely, Templar and Teutonic."

Altaïr listened with a thoughtful expression. "And how does Richard respond?"

"He and his remaining knights are busy keeping an eye on Saladin", the Rafiq replied. "Recently the Teutons have seized control of the port, and their Master has not been seen in public since the last time you were here." The book closed with a heavy thud. "Henry, the King's nephew, is trying to take William's place, but the circumstances are chaotic at best. Your actions have not gone unnoticed. Beneath the surface the snakes are at work, creating discontent and making our work harder." Fahim directed a pointed stare at the younger assassin. "You too must be careful of you who trust, Altaïr."

"I have many good reasons to consider him trustworthy", Altaïr replied firmly. "If Al Mualim only allows it, Desmond could be an asset for our work."

The Rafiq hummed, but did not make a comment about these "good reasons". "Desmond", he repeated slowly instead. "What an unusual name."

"He hears that a lot", was Altaïr's short response.

* * *

"-_are you doing?_"

It was not every day Lucy had the chance to see Warren Vidic stumped speechless.

To fill the sudden silence she played the distorted record again. The sound came through unclear at best and the image was marred by more glitches than ever before in an Animus session, but in the end the figure visible on the monitor was unmistakable.

"-_are you doing?_"

Lucy paused the recording. Once again the steady rhythm of the ECG was the only sound in the Animus chamber.

"How is this possible?" Vidic's voice was barely louder than a whisper.

"I don't know", Lucy admitted.

"Amazing", Vidic said. "They could as well be twins. Remarkable. Even after centuries..." He shook his head. "Amazing", he repeated. He leaned closer over the desk to peer at the Animus' monitor, nearly dipping his untied tie in her cold tea. "And very unexpected. He is actually _there_."

"We can't be sure yet", Lucy said quietly. "Look – the Animus isn't even registering his DNA, but it isn't letting me reboot it either. It's like the – the memory or whatever is operating on a level that we can't control. That _he_ can't control. The puppet system is gone, and so are all the Animus' databases that should be there during a session. I don't know why they're not."

"But is Mr. Miles in the Animus or somewhere else?"

She glanced at Desmond's face. "I – I don't know."

Vidic was starting to recover from his initial shock. He frowned. "Then what _do_ you know, Miss Stillman?"

"I think it may have something to do with the Bleeding Effect... except somehow _reverse_. I don't know what to call it. Not like what happened to Subject Sixteen." Lucy shook her head. "Until I trace this anomaly, I can only make guesses. After that, it's basically a task of finding the correct frequency through which we might find more of this." She gestured at the frozen image. "I could pull up some records of Subject Sixteen's sessions and see if they are of any help."

"Do it", he said curtly. "And keep me updated on any developments. This changes things." He straightened and turned to leave. "I'll be in my office."

Lucy did not answer. Her eyes lingered on the face of the 12th century assassin captured on record. She didn't move until the hiss of the automatic door indicated that Vidic had exited the chamber.

Then she sighed and got to work, concern weighing heavily on her shoulders.

_Be safe, Desmond_.

* * *

The scheming part wasn't nearly as enlightening as I thought it'd be. Though Altaïr had smoothly beckoned me into their company, Fahim's expressionless silence didn't make me feel welcome. He was an improvement over Malik worryingly hostile presence, but the calculating glances still bothered me. _Suck it up. There's gonna be a lot of that still_.

So, I ended up picking at the threads of the rip on my sweater that I had quickly thrown on, refusing to wear the dusty robe that smelled like an animal. My freshly and very clumsily bandaged shoulder itched again. Trying to ignore the need to scratch, while half listening to Altaïr's report, I was trying to figure out the Rafiq of Acre. He had seemed to listen intently when by Altaïr's request I again had recited the conversation I had half by accident had eavesdropped on, but then had seemed to quickly lose interest in me and concentrating on giving Altaïr a thorough update on the city's inside politics. I still couldn't quite determine how comfortable I could get around this Rafiq.

I stopped my mission of tugging on a stubborn thread clinging onto a dried spot of blood when I heard Altaïr speak up. "Sounds like we may still have to deal with Conrad to see an end for this war", he said, the "deal with" part having a terribly ominous ring to it in my ears. "But is there anything else you can tell me about Sibrand?"

Fahim was twirling his quill between the all five fingers of his right hand, staring in thought at the leathery cover of the book on his desk. "Only what is being said on the streets. He has been tightening his hold of the district ever since the death of Garnier de Naplouse", he said after a moment. "The official word is that it's for the good of the people, and for the safety of Acre."

"What a load of crap", I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose and earning another sidelong look from the Rafiq since I hadn't spoken a word in a while. The "for the good of the people" excuse had been overused enough in the past (_future?_) to justify some truly horrible deeds that I wasn't buying it for a minute. I couldn't understand how anyone could, after seeing the misery the commoners lived in.

"He's afraid", Altaïr said, his eyebrows knitting together in a deep frown.

I resisted the urge to scoff at the statement. "He's _nuts_", I corrected. "I saw him. There's a difference."

"Whatever the case is", the assassin continued, "William's actions were not to further his own motives, and even Talal knew to expect me. Now Sibrand appears to be sure he is next." He looked at the Rafiq, who nodded in agreement. Getting tired of the endless speculations flying around, I sighed and sank lower in my chair, while Altaïr went on: "Something important connects all these men, and the Templars are in the middle of it. Sibrand has our answers, but I must lay low until the commotion in the docks winds down again."

"Great, and in the meanwhile he builds himself a wall of knights to cower behind", I piped up again. "And what can we do?"

Raising an eyebrow, Altaïr turned to me. "Investigate."

* * *

_A/N: Fun fact: Conrad de Montferrat was assassinated by two Hashshashins in 1192, if I remember my history correctly._


	9. Acre

_A/N: Consider this early update as an apology for my unexpectedly long break in writing, m'kay? :) Happy Easter!_

_

* * *

  
_

**Chapter 9**

**Acre**

Now that the day's hottest hour was over and the people started to move outside more, Altaïr wanted to make use of the remaining time and, as he put it, _investigate_. Before that, however, he thought it best to rest a while and eat.

The Rafiq was kind enough to provide us with the leftovers of the last meal, before excusing himself and disappearing into another room which I hadn't even known to exist. The meat I recognized to be lamb and the bread was okay, but...

"What the hell is _this?_" I asked, my mouth half full of the unidentified oily-tasting goo and pointed at my plate.

Altaïr looked over to me. "Hummus", he replied calmly.

"Hummus doesn't taste like this", I muttered once I had managed to force it down. It left a strange taste in my mouth.

"Fahim has never been much of a cook."

Not wanting to insult anyone, I scooped up another mouthful of the pale paste with my slice of bread, and quickly washed it down with water when Altaïr got up. "Are you done soon?" he asked, lifting up his hood once more. "The more we get done today, the better."

"So you don't mind me slowing you down then?"

In his usual style Altaïr ignored my sarcasm. "Two pairs of eyes and ears are better than one. Right now we need to lay low", he stated matter-of-factly. He went to tighten the straps on his bracers. "Just put on something less... conspicuous."

"Less conspicuous" of course meant smelling like a horse again, but it was a small price for being able to move in Acre without being stared at. After seeing Sibrand's reaction, it was somewhat safe to assume the security measures would be tightened especially near the docks and the city gates. If we had waited a day or two before leaving Jerusalem, even managing to enter the city might have become extremely difficult.

Probably knowing this, once we made it out to the streets, Altaïr told me he wanted to scout to the north of the docks to see if there was an alternative route in. As we walked, he quietly mused that the gates could be used for escape if it came to that. But I knew he'd rather avoid having to fight his way out of the district.

We had just turned a corner and were now on a wide and thickly populated street that bordered the walls behind which the docks were located. Or more like leftover space than a street – the whole stretch of half-cobbled ground was littered by rubble and waste from other, more destroyed parts of the city. A couple of dogs wandered along the sides where they wouldn't be stepped on. "How about the water?" I suggested quietly as we briefly stopped and gave way for three jar-carrying women that navigated through the refuse piled against the walls. They didn't even seem to acknowledge the gesture.

"What about it?"

"Couldn't you enter the docks by swimming? You'd avoid most of the guards."

"No."

I was taken aback by the strict denial to a simple question. "Why not?" I asked. "Even with your gear on, it shouldn't be that bad. It's not like you can't swim."

Instead of replying, Altaïr merely cut back into the crowd. I followed.

A realization hit me as I received no answer. "You can't _swim?_"

"Of course I can swim", he then snapped. "There just has to be an easier way. I would be spotted immediately if I tried to get back ashore."

"All right, I get it", I said and raised my hand to indicate I'd meant no offense – only the other one, as I still avoided using the wounded arm, although it did feel a lot better. I decided to drop the subject and glanced up at the walls that dominated the view on our right. "You don't suppose you could go over these walls?"

"Maybe we can find out", he muttered. His eyes scanned the relatively low walls, before stopping at something at the end of the street. Then his pace slowed down into a crawl and I felt a light touch on my shoulder. Surprised, I followed his gaze and saw what he'd noticed. Six guards in white uniforms were patrolling the small plaza ahead and keeping an eye on the people.

"They're doubling the guards", I heard Altaïr's low voice. "We'd better split up – you take the smaller streets and I'll follow the wall. I can get past the patrols easier by myself."

"_Split up?_" I started to protest, remembering how lost I'd been last time. "But how will I find you?"

"Meet me under that tower", he said and pointed.

Despite my hood I had to squint my eyes to see it – the sun had come out and was bathing the city in golden afternoon light. "Right", I said and shadowed my eyes with my hand. The tower wasn't too far away. I could make out an outline of a large bird sitting on top of it, lazily flapping its wings and watching the streets below.

"Keep your eyes and ears open for anything useful", I heard the assassin say briefly. When I looked back at him again, his back was already moving further away, blending seamlessly into a group of white-robed scholars trudging along in the flow of people. I was absolutely sure he was going to be fine – it was myself I was worried about more.

With the Crusaders' main strength concentrated on guarding the city entrances and Sibrand's honorable ass, odds were that I would be left mostly in peace as long as I stuck to the side streets. Repeating this in my mind like a mantra I turned as well and parted from the busy crowd, choosing a straight route to the direction of our rendezvous tower.

_I'm getting better at this_, I thought, strangely proud of myself as I dodged a few over-excited merchants trying to round up some customers and a gathering of chatting women in the middle of the street. As I passed them, I overheard the topics concerning mostly their husbands, the war and the anticipation of its end that hopefully came soon. The usual, if you could call it that.

I must've got too comfortable with my task of listening to the conversations going on around me, because suddenly I felt a pull at the hem of my robes. Alarmed, I looked and saw a ragged little woman staring up at me, her other hand leaving a gray stain on my clothes and the other cupped and held pleadingly out at me. Tears had left streaks on her face smeared with soot.

"Please, kind sir", she croaked. "I'm poor and I'm hungry... my children are sick, sir, please..."

It took me a second to find my voice again to find my voice again. "I'm sorry", I said, lowering my voice, "but I have nothing on me." I tugged at my robe to get her to let go. "Sorry", I repeated, and even though I felt horrible for doing it, turned away from the woman and continued walking.

"You don't understand!" she begged and latched onto my robes again, her voice rising alarmingly. "I have nothing!"

The beggar earned a couple of disapproving glares from the citizens passing by. I was starting to feel uncomfortably self-conscious. I quickly glanced around me, relieved that I found no guards in sight. "Me neither", I almost snapped at her, my patience wearing thin. I tore the cloth from her hands again, making her start and jump back like a frightened cat. As much as I hated seeing misery like this, there was nothing I could do. Right now the woman's pleading was attracting far too much attention to myself. Silently praying she wouldn't come after me again, I turned and went on.

Well, she didn't – instead I heard the poor woman choosing another victim from the crowd, and her trembling, high-pitched voice faded gradually as I left the scene. But then, as soon as I almost sighed of relief, I got the most disturbing sensation that I was being watched.

Normally I would've probably ignored it as common paranoia, but if I had learned anything while I'd been here, it was that you could never be too careful. I kept walking, but slowly turned my head to scan the people behind me. Still I found no sign of guards, nor anything out of the usual – no one even spared me a look. But still I couldn't shake the odd feeling that made the hair in the back of my neck to stand up on end. Reflexively I picked up my pace. My left hand twiched. It was itching again.

_Some assassin you are. Can't even walk down a street..._

_I'm not an assassin_.

I almost heard the mocking cackle of my Voice of Reason.

Then someone laid a hand on my right arm. "Master Altaïr", a voice whispered frantically.

I almost broke the nose of the person who had decided to sneak up on me, when my head snapped to the direction of the whispered name. After a split second, during which my heart had briefly tried to escape through my throat, I realized I was staring at the top half of a face that sported a pair of pale grey eyes. The rest was clad in a white shroud.

"Thank the heavens I found you", this strange person said, not noticing or not paying attention to my alarmed stare. Judging by the voice it was a he. His head spun wildly as he looked around us before starting to pull me towards a small alley.

"I'm sorry to bother you like this, Master Altaïr", the man began before we were even properly out of the street. He pulled at the scarf in front of his nose and mouth and revealed the face of a young man who appeared to be barely in his twenties.

_Jesus. He's just a _kid.

The blond scraggly hairs on his chin twitched nervously as he spoke. "I've been tracking down Templar messengers, just like Al Mualim ordered – but – I think I have been careless, so forgive me..." He drew some breath, giving me time to process the situation. This _kid_ was apparently an informant, and had his assassins mixed up. _Can't blame him, though_. Before I could get a word in, he went on: "I followed them from the King's camp at Caesarea to Jerusalem, and then here, but – I'm sorry, but they knew to expect me this time, I tried to-"

The torrent of words stopped immediately when I raised a hand to calm down the young man. "I'm not Altaïr", I said, deciding to get straight to the point. Just to give a less threatening impression of myself, I also lowered my hood. "And I don't know who you are, so why don't you start from the beginning and tell me your name."

The young informant looked like I had just slapped him in the face. "You're – you're not?" he stammered. I thought his eyes couldn't get much wider. "But... you're..."

"Yeah, don't worry about that. We're... uh... related", I replied tersely, keeping to the simplest explanation for the moment. "If you have business with Altaïr, couldn't you just go to the Bureau and wait there?"

"No", he said, almost desperately. "I can't, you don't understand, I was-" His sentence was cut short as his gaze wandered to the turn in the alley behind my back, and then I saw that his eyes _could_ indeed get wider. "Oh – oh dear."

An extremely uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, I turned and looked.

The Templar that stared back at me wore an expression that I could only describe as dawning recognition as his gaze shifted from the informant to my unhooded face. His unprotected head and light gear underneath the cross-emblazoned surcoat suggested he was another messenger, and very likely the same this babbling young man had talked about. It just seemed he had left out a detail or two.

The moment I saw the knight's hand tightening around the hilt of his sword, I knew we would both be in deep shit if he drew it. That's why, being regrettably unarmed, I did the first thing that came to my mind.

I rammed him.

Even though I used my right shoulder, the impact sent a painful jolt into my other shoulder as well. Fortunately, it also appeared to be the last thing the Templar expected. The sword clattered onto the ground while he let out a surprised yell as he stumbled backwards and crashed into a shoddy table that gave out under his weight.

_So much for laying low_.

As the Templar landed heavily in the middle of wooden splinters, I hurried to kick the sword out of his reach, towards the petrified informant behind me. I heard him rush forward to pick it up. I clenched my jaw against the ache in the wound that had returned in a flash.

Snarling, the knight was getting back up. _Fucking genius. Now what?_ I was almost ready to turn and run, when I saw the attack that I was expecting did not come. Instead the knight halted, his frantic stare darting between me and someone behind me. I saw the confusion in his eyes.

"Get down", the someone suddenly said. Without stopping to think, I obeyed.

Right about then a tiny object shot through the air where my head had been a second ago and embedded itself in the Templar's thigh accompanied with an ugly sound. With a pained cry the knight staggered, collapsed against the wall and grabbed the throwing knife sticking out of his leg. My mind still struggling to comprehend how close I had just been to receiving a knife into my skull, I quickly stood up and turned. It didn't particularly surprise me to find Altaïr standing over the young man who had also dropped to his knees and was watching the assassin with a shocked expression.

"I leave you for _five minutes_", Altaïr commented pointedly, a second knife materializing between his fingers. "At this rate we won't get anything done."

"I can't help it", I replied breathlessly. "Must be my charms or something."

"He's getting away!" the informant abruptly piped up, finally getting his voice to work.

Another throwing knife whistled past my ear as I spun around to see the hem of a white cloak disappear behind the corner. The knife ricocheted off the stone wall and uselessly onto the ground. The next moment I was roughly shoved out of the way as Altaïr went to pursue him. Loud crashing noises told that the fleeing knight was throwing everything he could get his hands on to slow down the assassin on his tail.

To make sure I checked both ends of the alley to see if the commotion had caught anyone's attention. If it had, they obviously had decided to not get involved. Also the informant was shakily getting back on his feet. He looked pale, as if the realization that he had just been very close to a violent death had just set in. "That – that-"

"That's just how he does things", I said dryly. Frowning, I scanned his figure from head to toes. "You okay? You look like you're gonna faint at any second."

He shook his head. "I'm fine, thanks to Master Altaïr and you", he replied. "This was my first field mission – to keep a close eye on Templar communications and find out what I could, and then pass the information on to the Rafiqs." He looked down to his hands. "I – I _thought_ I was being careful, but I was discovered near the Crusader garrison in Caesarea. I decided to come here, because the Rafiq of Jerusalem told me Master Altaïr was on his way to Acre." He paused, suddenly uncertain. "I'm sorry for causing such trouble, sir."

"Hey, Altaïr's been through worse", I assured him. "And I'm no 'sir'. Just call me Desmond."

Once the young informant recovered from his shock and some color returned to his face, his tongue started to work as well. It might have just been the adrenaline doing its job, but I've never heard so many words in so little time. From the jumble of syllables and half-finished sentences I learned his name was Naim, and he had been stationed in Jaffa for almost a year, watching any Crusader activity in the Saracen-controlled city. When King Richard had started to gather his army south of Acre, he had been ordered to keep an eye where the Templars' main camp got their information from.

"Their Grand Master never leaves the camp", Naim finally said defeatedly. "The letters are the closest we can get to him. I _tried_, but, well... that didn't work out quite as planned."

"True", Altaïr's voice cut in. He was returning from behind the alley bend where he had chased the knight. Wordlessly he went to retrieve his knife from the ground and inspected its blade before slipping it back into his belt. When he turned to us, I saw his stony expression practically radiating displeasure. "He escaped."

Naim groaned quietly. I cocked an eyebrow at the news. "Escaped? From _you?_"

That earned me a stern look from the assassin. "I can't go after a Templar messenger in broad daylight and alert the whole city before I even get to my intended target", he stated humorlessly. Next to me Naim was listening intently, and I got the impression he was slowly shrinking. "For now we just have to hope we don't have to swim in Templars by tomorrow", Altaïr continued. As he approached us, he turned his attention to Naim. I noticed how quiet the informant was suddenly being.

"Safety and peace, brother", the assassin said flatly to Naim, who at the moment reminded me of a deer in a car's headlights. "We need to have a talk."

* * *

"Sir, a messenger from Acre."

In his temporary office inside King Richard's barracks, Robert de Sablé let out a deep sigh but didn't look up from the map he had been examining. "What does that madman want now?" he growled, irritated by the distraction. It was late.

The night shift guard standing uncertainly at the doorway opened and closed his mouth, looking helpless. "Uh, sir?"

"Fine." The Grand Master waved a hand. "Send him in."

The antsy guard left hurriedly. Soon the sound of dragging footsteps approached, and someone knocked on the door, carefully, as if it could shatter at any moment. "Yes?" Robert called out. The Master of Knights Teutonic had lately become even more paranoid than usual and practically bombarded him with letters ever since the Regent Lord of Acre had fallen to the Assassin's blade.

"News from Acre, Grand Master", the messenger said with a strained voice as soon as he stumbled inside. Clumsily he attempted a slight bow, but gave it up as a small hiss of pain escaped him. When Robert finally looked at the man, he saw why. Despite the dim lighting, he saw that his whole right thigh, light chainmail and fabric, were stained dark from blood. Suddenly Robert got a creeping suspicion that this time it was going to be more than just another request for reinforcements. He stood up.

"What happened?"

"I found the assassin scout who we caught tracking down our men in Caesarea. He attempted to intercept this message." Limping heavily, the knight stepped forward and dropped a sealed letter on the desk separating the two men.

There was a brief pause, until Robert motioned for him to continue. "And?"

"Master Sibrand is not satisfied with the Templar effort to secure Acre and requests more knights to-"

"Not that", Robert interrupted. "Sibrand's ramblings can wait. But surely one little scout didn't do this?" He gestured at the bloody limb.

"No", the messenger said hesitatingly, appearing visibly uncomfortable under the Grand Master's scrutiny. "_He_ was there. The Masyaf Assassin."

A silence. "Ah", Robert eventually breathed. "I see." So Sibrand's paranoia might after all have some truth to it. He might indeed be the next target. If the Assassin was in Acre...

"But... there were two of him."

"_Two_ Masyaf Assassins?"

"Yes, sir", the messenger replied quickly, sounding breathless. "Two of him, with the same faces. Together."

Another heavy silence ensued. Robert found himself at loss of words as he frowned at his messenger, who wore an almost apologetic expression on his dirt-streaked face. "I know what I saw", the knight eventually said, when the Grand Master remained silent. He dug something out of his belt pouch. "The first one attacked me. The second one threw this." The item that he then set on the desk on top the numerous maps of the Holy Land was a small silvery throwing knife.

Robert looked down at it. Some dry blood still clung to its deadly sharp blade. Candlelight danced on its metal surface, showing a web of intricate carvings, including the infamous triangular symbol. Just the sight of it made his jaw tighten. Shuffling of cloth was heard as the messenger nervously shifted weight off from the wounded leg.

"Two Masyaf Assassins", Robert said quietly to himself after a long pause.

The messenger nodded. "Like each other's reflections."

"Then who is the other one?"

"I don't know, sir."

"I see", Robert muttered again. Slowly he sat back down behind his desk, his eyes wandering absent-mindedly back to the small knife. The currently very innocent-looking object threw a long shadow over his maps.

"Sir?"

He dismissed the messenger with a tiny wave of his hand. "You may go", he said curtly, before glancing up one more time. A slightly disgusted tone creeped into his voice as he pointed out: "And get that leg looked at. You're bleeding on my floor."

* * *

_A/N: There was something wrong with the file, so forgive me if some words seem to be missing. There's a good chance I couldn't find them all._


End file.
